Temporary and Delirious
by ButtLordLunaPower
Summary: Alfred was very close to death. Twice in one day it seemed. Highly unrealistic, but waking up to find your whole family surrounding you wasn't what he wanted; to barge into his business. But in reality he was extremely grateful. (Anorexic/Self-harm!America) (Francis is a paramedic) (Arthur is a financial manager) (And Matthew is young) [FrUK, RusAme, GerIta, More ships probably]
1. Prologue

I was digging myself into a grave.

I was alone and cold, my skin tingles as the traces of crimson stripped down my arm like a frail child. Like me. Young, but too warn to move. Cloudy eyes and unfocused hearing was my issue, inevidable yet, inaudible sounds as my vision drifted. They weren't light hearted, they were screams of terror, but I heard yells of silence. Painfully there was a clutch of pressure, right there. In my head, I felt like they were trying to save me.

Who's they?

I remember dad shouting at me, at white noise, 'Papa will be here with his paramedics team, hold on a bit more.' Is it sad that was the only thing I remembered from that faithful point as I slowly sunk even further down into my subconscious and delirious assumptions of colossal imperial substance. I don't remember how long it took, trying to stay away from not sheer will, not even determination.

I was a curious teenager, I wanted to see what happened next, not with just death, but with surprisingly life as will.

Soon though, my blue tilted eyes were met with Papa, he was trying to keep me awake too. It seemed to be some use because there was an even harder pressure, but and indescribable _pain_ , I flinched; they noticed.

' _I know, just a little bit longer Alfred-'_

My body struggled to keep me functioning, and I almost lost it. Every time my eyes drifted, I heard Papa, more clearly than others. Never mind, I'm drifting to sleep now, I can't hear anything anymore, I can't see anything. I feel lost but, Papa seemed to be shouting at me too-

' _St…wake!'_

My eyes were drifting ahead of me. There was a truck; an ambulance. And I was still cold. Anxious. I beginning to forget where I am.

'… _ancis, he's going…shock…'_

I looked above me as I was loaded in, the roof of the machine looked nice and calming.

There was an IV though, and that was painful, but easily unnoticed. I couldn't hear dad though, he seemed to vanish.

'… _He's… transfusion-"_

I was panicking now, internally I was trying to crawl out, but I was tired and ill-willed. A had grasped the side of my face though and met with mine just barely did I notice who it was.

"…go to sleep Mon fils-"

A mask was pulled over, and before I knew it, it was lights out.


	2. Chapter 1: But nothing really happens

Everything was moving so slowly, it was loud, and as semi-conscious as Alfred had been, he made out the IV shoved in his arm as well as the constant yelling it seemed dependent. The smell of death lingered though, it was making his nostrils sneer but he was tired.

A hand brushed his head though.

' _..'re… help you…'_

He couldn't understand the grave was finally rising though, the warm hand made him feel warm and scared because he barely made out the voice of Arthur, his father. The remorse he felt was the worst part. Loneliness was a friend though.

The last thing he remembers is a feeling of a kiss on his forehead.

"He's stable."

"When will he wake up?"

The nurse hesitated as she looked at the near lackluster sleeping body laid on the hospital bed. It someone were to describe the atmosphere in the room, one would consider it tense and displeasuring. But fingers graced the clipboard that held a few bits of papers. Documents about the surgery and maybe a bit of his medical history. But mostly it contained his stability at the moment and much need information about him.

"Hopefully not long, the anesthetics hasn't worn off completely but estimate an hour or two depending how he's hold up with the NG tube." Walking over to the side of his bed she examined the stiches for a moment. Flexing his arm in gentle directions and sighs, placing it down, palm first. "We also need to make sure his arm doesn't become too infected, but when he does wake up, we'll contact the social worker and they'll discuss outpatient help, like therapy and the sort."

Arthur nodded and his fingers drag through his hair. Wet, greasy, tangled and unprofessional. Not very forthcoming of himself.

"-If we feel he's still a danger to himself or others he may be admitted into the psych-ward with consent it seems."

Silence loomed through the air uncomfortably, the nurse had made her way back to the computer tight-lipped.

The hospital room is as devoid of beauty as Arthur (arguably Francis) was of hope. Its walls are simply cream, not peeling or dirty, just cream. There is no decoration at all save the limp curtain that can separate my bed from the three others in here. It was perhaps once the kind of green that reminds people of spring-time and hope, but it's faded so much that the hue is insipid. The room as an undertone of bleach and the floor is simply grey. At the far end are windows in brown metal frames, only openable at the top. Not a single person has flowers, cards or home brought food. They are sleeping to pass the time or staring at nothing at all. There are stands for intravenous drips and monitors. At the door are dispensers for rubber gloves, hand sanitizer and soap. These items only reinforce my fear of germs, they are so ubiquitous here that cleaning is mandatory every time a doorway is passed or a patient is touched. But maybe the nurses will forget, or not wash properly, then what? Will he get even sicker?

Ripped from his thoughts the same nurse had somehow made her way over and laid a hand on his shoulder, calming and with a small smile.

"If I'm going to be honest, you're lucky he's not too far gone."

"I'm sorry?"

"Well," He let go and stepped back fluently flipping through the clipboard once again, "He's underweight – malnourished even, and not only did he cut himself to where we almost lost him twice due to severe blood loss, he… survived." The woman carefully trudged verbally, discouraging any form of eye contact as her petite figure seemed to sway nervously. It had gone completely blank around the room, the constant beeping from the heart monitor seemed to clear the white noise gracefully but sadly.

The blond nurse had cleared her throat before placing the clipboard back on the footboard of the hospital bed, "When he wakes up enough, press the call button Hun," she turned and Arthur heard footsteps disappear and blend with the constant chatter in the hall.

The worst part was the fact he was home, he should have _known_ what was going on. Arthur understood what it was like being held up in the hospital, the sheer fact that Alfred was suffering, and Arthur not realizing, not knowing, or paying attention, made him angry. Angry at himself, angry at the persona of a perfect life, when it wasn't. It fucking wasn't, and it was his fault that his _son_ was _suffering_. A near lifeless body was laying on a hospital bed, elongated fingers had lightly held the limp hand in a warm stronghold. If Alfred woke up, he'd know he wouldn't be alone, he was _never_ alone.

Right now though, he'll just make the taste of burnt coffee, and the smell of bleach justify his bitterness at himself. It was easier; and it didn't consume so much of his energy.

Arthur was utterly lost though. The presents of blood was the most jarring sight of all. It was a lingering smell that the Brit just couldn't detest any of the sort, but – he was necessarily starving for pleasure at the moment, it was a surprise that even the water that was originally handed to him as a way of comfort was so incredibly bland. And the atmosphere of the hospital in general didn't help the overwhelming hatred

"He'll be okay-"

Francis was stern but somehow, all too caring, something no one should be towards himself, the breath of a calming atmosphere seemed to be welcomed, but judging by the constant beating of Alfred's heart in the background. "I let this happen…" Arthur seemed to struggle; frantically trying to wipe the tears away, he sat up more in the uncomfortable hospital chair, it would more than likely be his willful bed for the next couple days.  
"Non, we let this happen, we're in this together."

"But I'm the one that's always home…"

The air grew slightly more cold as they sat there, Francis wasn't agreeing with him, but he wasn't denying it either, whether it made things better or worse was up to the both of them in the future. But, Arthur was visibly distressed (to be honest, that was an understatement of the century).

When he was anxious though, the Brit had a tendency to sometimes unconsciously stare unwillingly into blank spare while gripping and stroking either his leg, or picking at his jacket, thread, even picking his own hand until it began to grow red, and sometimes even bleed if Francis hadn't stopped him. The Frenchman could compare it generously to chewing ones nails, to which he does so, Arthur just does it more frequently, and sometimes annoyingly worse.

It was continuous though, and Francis should have been paying attention to his husband's movements, because he lacked the realization that he had moved his hand to Alfred's and well, anxiety forced him to stroke. Alfred had caught him doing that many times in the past, usually in majorly populated places, or watching something on television, even he found it extremely annoying. It was a tick that Francis even had when he did it, but even at this moment, he could see as to why Arthur would take to past annoyances.

He wants to be grateful for his actions at the moment, but even he knows it wouldn't help for the futures.

"Where's Matthew?" Arthur finally breaks the silence.

"Ludwig and Feliciano agreed to take him – especially on the short notice, but I'm not complaining."

It went quiet again, but the constant heart monitor beeping away kept the tension to a high but even more keeping the reminder that Alfred was still alive and breathing. Arthur wondered what Francis was thinking. Anger, Sadness, remorse? But through the harsh breaths and the constant cue of every IV connected to him. Francis seemed to be the only one that could keep strong, provide comfort and some kind of sanity at best.

Francis loved his family, and honestly, he couldn't imagine a life without all three of them. These were the people he felt the need to provide as well as care for.

He needed to be strong. For Matthew and Alfred, but at this point mostly for Arthur it seemed.

Lost in his over bearing thoughts though he failed to notice the sudden motion from…

"…Alfred?" He clutched his hand tight. Arthur choked, barely above a whisper.

The teen attempted to open his eyes. Blue orbs precariously opening, wilted and damaged somehow. An exasperated breath of frustration from Alfred hilted his daunting attempt and made him oddly disoriented. Not only that, but he was not very comfortable.

He could feel it though. Long fingers over his hands. Like a protection, like a unneeded advantage to witness a calming arrival, but was sadly underwhelmed because maybe nerving temptations to scrape were some form of procrastination the a harsh reality.

"You're awake…"

Alfred was stirring, albeit slightly, but he attempted to sit-up, unfortunately he was beginning to feel a migraine forming.

"…Yeah," He scuffed, slightly irritated and halfway delirious.

Alfred carefully sighed. Fingers beginning to finally function properly as he lightly gripped the harsh scratchy bedsheets that laid upon his body. He wasn't cold, he just wasn't accustomed to the smell of lasting bleach and Pine Sol. Maybe that is what was making so irritable.

His head was still blurred, and it seemed every movement he made, he felt like he was floating, numb was the best way to describe it. It could also be the pain. His head was aching horribly so, and he could just _feel_ the stitches lacing his left arm. Infected maybe, but nevertheless painful. Sadly not the comforting pain he thought he wanted to feel nearly a couple hours ago. Still…

This wasn't supposed to happen.

"Are you feeling at least decent?" Arthur leaned back a little bit. Cool fingers that laid dormant for several hours asleep turned to be nearly giddy the _hot_ irritatingly soft hands left him, giving him the independence to finally breathe without a panic attack.

"…sure." He stayed quiet, just like the moments before storm on a summer day. Silent, uncomfortable, and just the hint of sadness. Could it be regret?

"…your lack of response is alarming." Francis said and refused to let his own warm comforting touch leave Arthur. He could feel the tense and aching shutters radiate out of his husband.

"…well, what else am I supposed to…say?" His voice gave out as he finally gained the momentum to move his damaged arm over his eyes, nearly knocking the feeding tube in his nose to cover the beaming lights.

He felt embarrassed – ashamed, even self-conscious. For, he was reminded by the horrible pang in his head and on his body. Tears were too humiliated to leave their hiding place, his mouth was dry and begged for water. Alfred felt gross and dirty. Sweat could possibly bleed from his head soon. The teen was still tired and a little confused. It was a whole range of emotion that Alfred shouldn't try to explain.

Arthur pressed the call button. And Alfred considered himself a loss cause.

Clearing his throat, again killing the silence, the Frenchman raised from his seat, "-I'll get you some coffee-"

"…that's fine."

Francis attempted to walk on the other side of the hospital bed. The sheer guilt that his son seemed to give off was disheartening. He leaned forward though, and planted a kiss on his forehead. Alfred didn't react like his father had expected. Alfred promptly back away from it the best he could.

His heart broke. But he didn't pressure.

The Brit hated coffee, it was always bitter, always black and dull – even with sugar and cream, he could never find the right taste to suit himself. Black coffee was what he preferred though, 'go big or go home'. Tea was calming, soothing. Different blends and different flavours made ventures into the world of short parts of his past seem almost bearable to remember, through all the teasing, everything seemed to change. Tea never seemed to want to. Earl Grey, will always taste like Earl Grey.

He was kicked out of his thoughts from a knock at the bare door and a nurse walked in. Dull blue scrubs walked in, it was the same nurse, and it was just that Arthur never noticed what she was wearing before. Maybe because it didn't matter, but it was also noted.

"Good afternoon to the both of you-" The nurse pushed herself towards the computer lying idle next to the bed. "How are you feeling?"

A harsh breath through his mouth, making the sudden dryness worse, he spoke, "…fine…" He said, lowly.

"That's good," the blond nurse stood up again and lightly took the arm that was being hung over his eyes to dim the unnecessarily bright lights. Maneuvering the arm slightly and examining the stitches.

"Good news, there seems to be no infection, but we're going to have to see if we can either replace or tighten these stitches," Long nails applied pressure towards the outer edge of the wound, making Alfred flinch and back away. She gave a soft hum and placed the arm down gently at his side. She wrote or typed something down, to which, the room again grew hushed and awkward. Francis walked in to break this.

The Nurse had yet to meet Frenchman properly, never really catching themselves when they should.  
"Hello, you must be Mr. Bonnefoy, the husband?" Her business like attitude seemed to be slightly contrasting to the male as he sat down the two cups of coffee.

"Oui, that is me."

She held out her hand for a shake-

"I am Nurse Zwingli, uh, can I speak to the both of you in the hallway?"

Arthur seemed slightly confused for a moment. He agreed, as well as Francis. Forcing himself from his seat, Alfred was dragged out into the hall. It seemed to be littered with patients and guests, nurses and doctors.


	3. Chapter 2: But Alfred is in denial

**PLEASE READ ENDING NOTES!**

* * *

Alfred found his situation completely and utterly unwarranted.

His position, and his _absence_ from school wasn't alarming in the slightest, it wasn't dignified either but once he gained the _much_ needed momentum to sit up on his own. His feeding tube wasn't reluctantly pulling, and for that he was oddly thankful, whether or not an unwarranted silence was intentional by the random male nurse that just seemed to strut his way into his _private_ room and make no attempt to at least lighten the room.

The random man wasn't trained.

He was actually.

Alfred was just in denial of his certain circumstances.

Skinny fingers were getting raw from picking at the rough bedsheets though, he was cold, and the 'natural' air was not making it any better. Papa and dad were in the hallway with the nurses. It was really embarrassing. Alfred could speak for himself.

Alas, there was a knock at the door.

"You can also call me Antonio, if you like…" His smile gleams in the horrible hospital lights, overly-happy and a bit obnoxious. Arthur decided it was something he'd have to live with for now, at least.

"I'll leave you three alone." The nurse scattered away, more than likely forcing herself to tend to another patient.

The air was stiff, but it seemed that the obnoxious social worker recognize the shifts in general reconciliation – and even though Francis didn't seem to give a second glance towards the closed hospital door, the Frenchman also failed to have some form of competence when it came to shocking atmosphere. But, judging by the way he was holding himself, even he could see that the smell of bleach and the cold floor was lacking vibrancy to consider their antagonizing long wait a pleasing one.

Maybe Arthur did need a break.

His deep thought expertise was ended when a hand was slowly trailing up his back towards his shoulder, comforting and relaxing. Francis had always been amazing at making him melt into putty somehow. He hated it, detested it. Vile piece of information was willingly leaked to the world. He inclined himself to rest against him, he needed to feel warm and comfortable and loved. The feeling of want wasn't existing. It broke him.

Whilst he was deep-seated, Francis let him go.

This forced him to be the sole-communicator for the time being. He wasn't handing those reigns to Arthur. Sad and horrific notion that maybe forcing the Brit to take ropes on something he was all too familiar with seemed like the perfect idea on paper. But executing these terms in the way of reinforcing a strong sense of enlightenment in a moment and scenario Arthur had wished to never let his own children experience for themselves was visibly taking an emotional toll.

He still held him close though. Sympathetic. Just like before.

"- as of now, I have a few questions to ask the both of you."

Antonio was smart enough to lead them somewhere private and comfortable. It was respected and kind of him, but it was also a bit troublesome because they were stranded to deal with their dwelling sense of compunction and slightly irrational Arthur had thought as he was dragged to a decent sitting area.

They were led to an area that seemed to be closed off, halfway in public perception, and the other half hidden behind a wall, it looked like a kids' area. There was toys and a little TV on the wall with some books and colouring books. It was quiet, and if Matthew ever came to visit, (which he would, more than likely) he'd live for the hushed area. Such a gentle and quiet kid Matthew is. Francis misses him.

They sat down in faux leather, not typically comfortable for obvious reasons, and the social worker had obviously sat across them. A clipboard had sat on his lap, yet, he stilled smiled. Arthur was getting irate from the buoyant personality that just seemed to flood them. Francis was happy, it was a change from the depressing atmosphere, but even he knew that his husband was very proper, and reading the air around them was mandatory. Mr. Carriedo got comfortable, left leg crossing over the right, he propped himself up to look more professional Francis would to have guessed.

"Okay, so to start off with, what happened?"

It was unfortunately a cue for Arthur who perked up. "Well, uh, I picked up Alfred and Matthew up from school, and took them home. I needed to go grocery shopping-"

" _Alright," the Brit had thrown on his coat, it was cold outside – and the mid-November air was biting Arthur's skin as of late and he didn't want to freeze to death, "I'm going to the grocery, do we need anything specific?" It would be a short run, just some small items they needed, milk, bread, and maybe some jelly, they were running low._

" _Dad, can you get syrup." Oh yes, Matthew, who was colouring in his animal themed book, seemed to be idly aware of the question, but answered nonetheless. He brushed a curl from his face and nice violet eyes were beautifully present in the luminescing lights of the island in the kitchen. Cold marble making the child's skin cold and like ice, but he was still comfortable._

" _Not unless you come with," Arthur's voice was lively, and joyful. It wasn't a bad day. Just a cold one. Stomping some old shoes on, he made sure to wrap an old green scarf around himself. Matthew on the other hand wasn't very surprised by the response, the boy nodded and struggled to reach his feet towards the ground. He was still young and growing and also eager to run around obediently, which was something he wasn't used to. Comparing Matthew to his older brother Alfred, They were completely different people._

 _When he reached the door, Arthur helped Matthew into a warm jacket, there really wasn't any reason for a thick coat (which Arthur had laid out a week ago because he knew the cold weather was coming). The youngest had put on his light up Ninja Turtle shoes, Velcro because Matthew was having some trouble learning how to tie his shoes, but that's okay._

 _The two boys were promptly leading towards the door, bur prior to leaving, he popped his head into the kitchen, where Alfred was, doing his homework more than likely it seemed. Messy sandy hair was unkempt from the freezing winds, cowlick pinned down by a hairpin as to not draw attention._

" _Alfred, you're not going?"_

 _He shakes his head no._

" _Okay, we'll be back in an hour at most, if you need anything text or call."_

" _Yeah," he says hushed. Pencil more aware of itself hitting the paper than Alfred would ever be of his family's presence._

" _Okay then love you." Him and Matthew head out the door._

"What happened when you found him?"

Harshly breathing in, Arthur shook his head, "To be honest, I don't remember that much.." He replied genuinely. Fingers clutched the edge of the pleather seat in what, anticipation?

"Then tell me what you do remember."

He nods and shifts slightly.

"We got home about 45 minutes later, and when I put things away in the kitchen Alfred wasn't there, which is normal. Matthew went to his room-" He stretched himself out and looked into the space between the two other chairs in front of him.  
"I went upstairs to the master bedroom to put shampoo in the shower, walked out and realized the hallway bathroom light was on with the door closed, went to tell Alfred we were home, got no response, and I guess it escalates from there."

"So, in short, you're the one who opened the door?"

Arthur nods. Toni writes that down.

"Do you possibly think this was intentional, and do you think this could happen again?"

It was a considerable and reasonable thought. As likely as it was, Alfred wasn't the type of person to just try something like this again. He also didn't seemed like the type to 'participate' in self-harming activities.

He finally came up with the best answer, "…I don't know."

The Spanish man decided to hum, whether sympathetically or in confidence seemed to throw the other men off slightly. It was hard though, keeping an undeviating expression as well as emotion. It was obvious that Arthur was a very 'high-strung' person per say but he also had issues keeping certain emotions thwarted.

Pleather under him seemed to exhale.

"-When do you think this started?"

"Maybe around six months, a year?"

"How do you think?"

Arthur was about to respond before he noticed something, more like… Remembered something.

The pocket knife.

"…I lost my pocket knife."

Instead of the Spanish social worker reacting to the sudden confession, it was Francis who had shot his head over to Arthur.

"…what?"

"A couple months ago when I was doing laundry I realized it was missing but forgot about it. Could he-?" He stops himself as tears layered the corners of his eyes, threatening to fall out like before. Francis held him even closer though, unable to remain inattentive to the thought that…

Antonio was happy to step in for the couple. Predominately to give comfort. What he was trained for. What he was there to do. "Quite possibly, si." He replied solemnly and with sincerity.

The couple sat there in what Arthur could only describe as shock, it was a wrong description though because, if he really had to pick a word. It would be 'disturbance', it certainly sounded better and more relaxing in a way, a bitter one at most, but it worked better than the before mentioned one. Mr. Carriedo was kind enough to let them sit for a moment before continuing.

"Do you have any idea to what could have led to this? Any kind of triggers? Has he complained or told you anything alarming?"

"No, and come to think of it, he never really tells us anything."

"Never?"

"No, never."

This disturbed Antonio.

Wood knocking on flesh seemed to twinge the air unpleasantly.

Then a figure walked in obnoxiously with a smile on his face.

"Good afternoon, my name is Mr. Carriedo, you can call me Antonio or Toni if you like-"

He held out his hand, and Alfred didn't take it. Toni didn't seem to be phased.

Alfred was unfortunate and lacked to notice the fact that Antonio was making himself comfortable, and the previous nurse saw that as an indication to walk out and let them have some privacy.

"So it seems you don't want to talk." Toni seemed to accept the response, for it wasn't anything new to his field of work. He's worked with clients and parents that refused to talk or even do as little as give eye contact. So this behavior wasn't alarming especially someone who is in their mid-teens.

"I will be your social worker, I help with outpatient therapy, as well as being your basic psychologist until you leave the hospital."

He still doesn't respond, instead forced his eyes to glare at the blanket covering his legs.

Antonio clears his throat and sighs, shifting slightly to lean forward and force himself eye level with Alfred who again moved his own line of sight elsewhere. The Spaniard decided that he was going to be a fairly hard one. But it was challenge that he was going to take.

"Anything you tell me I cannot share with anyone outside this room unless I feel that it could hurt someone or yourself, so to begin, I need your side of the story. What happened?"

Rather than taking one for the team, Alfred reluctantly stayed quiet, casting little to no attention to the man he was feverously avoiding through this whole thing, he decided staying quiet was his best bet. Nails raking across the thick blankets' fabric to cope with the sudden privacy violations of a man he didn't even though was frightening as well as insufferable. He already had to deal with this from his family at home, but judging by the way the guy seemed to idle and calm about it – almost relaxed made him angry and even as his father put it, 'cross'. A psychologist was a stupid concept, he was fine, and he knew he was fine, why the hell wouldn't anyone believe him.

"Alfred, I can't help if you don't talk."

He didn't need any help, he was fine the way he was. He was doing fine in school, he wasn't bothersome at home, so why the hell would he need help? Pulling his legs even harder towards his chest, he remained silent as he closed his eyes, trying to block out the white noise that permeated the air. He could hear Antonio sigh.

"…Al, I want to help."

" _Don't_ call me that." He snarled. His fingers twisted into the bedsheets angrily.

"I'm sorry, but I need you to talk to me so I can help."

"I've got nothing to say-" Voice almost mute, but thanks to the lack of other noise in the room, Antonio was able to decipher the words quite clearly.

"You do realize if you don't talk to me, it's a guarantee visit to the psych-ward where you will more than likely have to talk to me anyways." The brown haired Spanish man was frank and stern with the comment was a complete contrast to his attitude just minutes or even seconds before, he leaned forward even more to try and catch the blue eyes within their line of sight, but it was nearly impossible the way Alfred had placed his head completely away from the man.

"…and if I don't there?"

"It'll just be harder for you to go back home."

The American didn't oppose, but he still remained silent. Forcing his fingers to move in a rhythm to leave his hidden anxiety at bay. They seemed to be completely hidden to Alfred's delight.

In actuality this was wholeheartedly noted.

Antonio still sat there though, waiting. It takes time to talk to someone you're unfamiliar with and trust was meant to be a big thing here.

"…here…" Standing up and scooting his chair closer to the bed, "Let's start off smaller, was coming into the hospital like this intentional?"

Alfred clearly shakes his head. "No."

"So this wasn't an attempt on your life?"

He shakes his head again, "No."

The brunet adamantly wrote that down.

"Now I need to ask you a few questions about you and your family. What are some things you enjoy doing together?"

The blond was hesitant, but spoke quietly, "Sometimes they watch movies together or go to the park."

"Are you implying that you don't usually join them?"

"Not usually anymore…"

Breathing in, Antonio of course wrote this information down, not typically vital, but a little was enough for now.

"Do you take these opportunities alone to cut yourself?"

He nods. "Yeah usually."

"Do you get along with your family decently?"

"Yes…"

Both men firmly stayed their ground, calm, and Alfred found this alluring and unperturbed. Allowing Antonio to get this information on a decent note was worth an applause to his client, and a pat on the back for himself. He was glad his nice and bubble atmosphere made him so charming to get his job done so nicely.

"Back to my first question though, I need your end of the story Alfred." He got his pen ready as he waited for his response. It came slow but it was still there.

"Dad and Matt went to the store, I finished my homework and…" He hesitated and let his eyes close tightly, still looked away from the man, "I went to my room and got my knife-"

"Was it a pocket knife?"

Alfred bowed his head in shame.

"Yes." He sniffled.

Giving the boy a moment to recuperate his emotions from uncontrollable sniffles to actual tears, he let him continue slow-paced.

"…T-then it's pretty self-exclamatory from there."

Putting down his pen, then laying the clipboard on the table next to him, he let out a breath before letting his arms stretch for a moment, Alfred wasn't doing too well though, he could tell he was doing everything he could to keep his tears at bay, and he felt the need to point it out.

"It's okay to cry," He smiles with a chuckle. "No one's going to make fun of you."

"And how can I know that?" Slumping his form and finally opening his blue eyes, he adjusted his head to face green ones that were annoyingly bright and _happy_ and seemed to be excited to see his blue ones

"It's just you and me, I can't tell anyone anything, so it's okay right now, but I have more questions to ask you…"

"Ask away," Alfred replied bitterly.

"Looking at your records, it seems you're nearly 30lbs underweight, is there a reason for this?"

Shrugging his shoulders he lets out a dramatic sigh, "Depends."

"Do you purge your system of food often?"

He of course nods and tries to hide his face slightly, pale and inhuman because his red eyes seemed to circle his eyes. Alfred himself didn't realize that had appeared. Eyes glossy, hopefully they weren't technically noticeable unlike his glasses, which was either taken by the nurse or his parents had them, because apparently being informed that you're on suicide watch by and 'underling' was the best move to make to someone who was filled with apprehension. Guess they were considered a 'suicide risk'. This was fucking petty of them.

"Why?" the question seemed to linger above Alfred's head like bait.

He weaved his fingers to get lost in the fabric, "…because I can." He replied feebly.

Antonio didn't consistently sit with a patient and think like that, but he had to draw some conclusions himself. If he was basing a prognosis on what he was looking at or what he heard, as well as what Alfred was admitting, he'd conclude an eating disorder. Now, whether or not it was intentional was up for debate, he could be doing it because he was just feeling sick, leaving him to vomit and purge his system intentionally, but also unintentionally hurting himself. Now, of course maybe intentionally, countless reasons were possible, just like obvious ones staring him in his face. His parents said he was a smart kid, teachers have told him he was a smart kid, so if he as aware of what he was doing, who was to say he didn't know the consequences of his actions.

"How did you figure out to make yourself purge."

The blond cracked his knuckles in hesitation, "I found it online."

"Where...?"

"…I searched it obviously."

So the purging was intentional.

"You do know the consequences of doing this to your system, correct?"

A groan was heard and Alfred closed his eyes in frustration. He was irritated, and was suddenly hit with a wave of drowsiness, the medication flowing into his system was making him feel heavy. He rubbed his eyes and yawned, but responded nevertheless, the quicker he answered, the quicker the bastard would leave.

"S'ppose." He laid himself back down, trying not to seem so tired but failed when Antonio smirked.

White teeth somehow glowing under the lights as he smiles, Antonio was finishing it off for now.

"How much sleep do you get at home?"

Yawning again, he was closing his eyes as he tried warming himself under the blanket, he was almost dying from the cold. "A little bit."

"Why a little bit?"

"Because it's for the weak."

He hummed in response, and as Toni made himself ready to leave, he walked to the door and flicked a switch off, making the room more bearable to the eyes, and walking out, Alfred was gone like a light switch.

"Good news." The brown haired male perched himself, "No psych-ward."

Both parents let out a sigh of relieve, but this was halted when the social worker spoke again.

"But we may have a case of either bulimia or anorexia nervosa on top of the other forms of self-harm, the best I can do is wait until he wakes up again to talk to him more, but getting a personal psychologist is probably better for the moment."

Tightly grabbing Arthur's hand, he could feel his awareness and sudden tension, Francis was scared.

No, he was terrified.

* * *

Did I make any mistakes? I know some things and questions were a bit short. I was just going by my slight personal experience. But still, grammar mistakes? Lining mistakes or character and wording mistakes? Let me know! And I'll fix or change it!

Okay, so now, I'm in a heated debate.  
Should I add PruCan, or should I just make Prussia an adult and leave Canada to be a cutie, because I have big plans for this boi! Please let me know.

Also, Russia and Romano and other character will be added, either next chapter or the next couple of them.

/((This fic isn't to offend anyone! I am going by personal experience, and this give me the opportunity to research psychology for my OWN career, I'm sorry if any information or interpretations are wrong, and if they are, please tell me so I can fix and change it!))/

/EDIT\\\\\  
**RECORD SCREECH**  
Me: *pops up in front of a camera*

Hello! So when I posted this, I didn't realize what file I was uploading! So there is unexplained misinformation in here that I wanted to address right here. Okay, so In the actual final version I do address the topic that bulimia and anorexia are pretty different. I state that Alfred is 30lbs underweight, whilst accidentally giving the option that he was bulimic. THIS IS FALSE! Bulimia in short: Means someone who purges their system and/or participate in weight losing activities BUT STAY WITHIN WHAT IS CONSIDERED A 'NORMAL' WEIGHT, or just weight that's sort of normal for you and/or height ETC.

I'm sorry for this misinformation and the reason I just don't reupload this chapter is because I had saved this slightly edited doc in the place of the finished one, so I am SO sorry for misinforming you! I will make sure to be more responsible with what I place as information and I am upset with myself for being so irresponsible with this topic!


	4. Chapter 3: But Arthur tries

" _Aaand whats this?"_

" _That's um, uh, P!"_

" _Yes! And what does P remind you of?"_

" _It reminds me of Papa!"_

" _Yeah, it does, doesn't it…"_

 _Arthur brushed his fingers through Alfred's thin hair, both laying on the rugged carpet as it dug into their skin, it was near evening and the curtains were halfway drawn closed as the evening sun seemed to drift through the panes of glass, shrouding them in an orange light._

" _Mhm," He seemed to agree as he shifted uncomfortably on the harsh flooring that didn't seem to want to leave his fragile skin alone. "Yeah, and D reminds me of you dad!" The child limped against the carpet with a giggle and a cough. The pine's outside seemed to be taking a toll on Alfred._

" _I bet It does," Arthur seemed to smile before picking himself up from the floor as well as the book he was going through, it was well-used and a bit stained, the object originally found at a garage sale with Francis when they had gone looking through clothes for Alfred._

" _When will Papa be home?" The boy picked himself up as well, "I'm huunngrry…" Small voice sounded through their small apartment. Harsh creaking was sounded as the near grown toddler's feet thumped on the floor._

" _I know, he'll be home soon, maybe I could make you something…?" Placing the book back into a box full of other used books that Arthur should probably give away or donate._

 _Shaking his head he bolted towards the TV remote. Typical._

" _What, why not?"_

" _Because I don't like when you cook." He responds whilst realizing that Ninja Turtles was coming on._

 _He accepted it though, unfortunately common that someone would neglect his cooking abilities, but as Francis said 'lacked thereof. Even though Arthur had tried to learn the simple things in the past, having recent cuts on his fingers from trying chop carrots a week ago, his husband always like to comment on his inability to cook a decent meal on the stove, Arthur didn't think anything of it. Tea was his main dish and maybe soup reheated in the microwave when Alfred was feeling exceptionally tempted to sneak above the fridge and grab himself several handfuls of cookies or just under the weather._

 _Naturally, the clock was hitting 4:30pm. Francis was going to be home any minute._

 _As his theory was precise enough; the sound of a set of keys were heard outside the front door and a horrendous creak was heard from the door as it was pushed closed. Guess putting tea on the boil was a bad idea._

 _Steps could be heard walking into the kitchen, the floor was creaking under his legs that were stretched out and graceful. They never seemed to stumble. Warm arms wrapped around his waist lazily. Long hair seemed to trickle down and rub against Arthur's cheek and Francis decided to connect his lips with the Brits cheek._

" _You seem distracted." The Frenchman murmured into the crook of his neck._

" _Of course I am, how can I not be with you around?"_

 _The French stronghold seem to give off a nice chuckle from the back of his throat, "I do have bad news."_

 _Arthur groaned and slumped dramatically, forcing Francis to hold him tighter. "Oh please don't tell me the moving company cancelled on us…"_

" _Non, worse."_

 _Green eyes dilated slightly before he was beginning to fill with anxiety. The man was thrown off when there was another husky laugh as the arms tightened even more, pulling Arthur even closer._

" _Okay not that bad, but uh- "He cleared his throat, "I've been thinking these couple weeks and have come to a_ _ **horrifying**_ _conclusion." Lips trailed his neck and breathed in slowly._

 _The water seemed to boil on the stove and was quickly removed to a burner that wasn't heated outstretching himself to reach the glass Arthur had chosen to use. "What would that be?" The teabag was added with sugar and a small bit of milk. A blush was forming on his cheeks._

" _Promise not to get upset?"_

 _His husband nods as he takes a long drink._

" _I need to cut my hair."_

 _Arthur sputter and almost spit out his drink._

" _Wh-"_

 _Francis gave off an exasperated sigh, "Well, it autumn, so that means wind. And it seemed that my hair doesn't want to leave me alone whether it's in a hair-tie or ribbon. It's unfortunately a huge distraction." He explained and almost seemed to snuggle the man._

 _Predictably Arthur slumped even more that he thought he could, but his husband was an undeniably strong man. Arthur cradling the warm cup in his hands. Actually it was making his hands burn._

 _The awkward silence finally broke the camel's back._

"… _I'm sorry."_

 _The dim lights from the kitchen was illuminating. The atmosphere wasn't dense or suffocating. It was more polite than most. They both felt content and love._

" _It's not your fault," He sips his tea, "If you want to go ahead."_

" _I know, I know." He sucks another breath and exhales. He seemed to smell like that expensive cologne they could barely afford, but it lasted for days and that's when you know this was_ _ **Francis**_ _._

 _Smiling, Arthur seemed to have forced his way out of his grip and set the half empty cup down._

" _You should probably start supper, your child is complaining." Arthur began strutting out the room._

" _He's yours too, can't blame just me for spoiling him."_

" _I can, and will."_

 _Francis smirked, "How about we just order out, because I don't feel like digging into the boxes." Bone cold tiles brushed against his feet as he dug himself out a plastic cup from an open moving box and filled it was cold water from the sink._

" _Might as well." He shuffled around the corner with a mumbled voice, "-can't wait to get out of this bloody apartment." Francis could only seem to hum in approval._

His head was lulling uncomfortably in the awful hospital chair, barely conscious but not willing to sleep because of his position, he let the bags under his eyes sag. Insufficient meals and the lack of daily nutrients he was typically used to. Bright and uncomfortable lights were the main horror though.

Many times he was tempted by Arthur to go home and get some good sleep. The Brit seemed to worry too much, and Francis wasn't one to give in like the other man had wanted. The Frenchman justified his intentions by planting a large kiss to his cheek and using his charm expertise. He bought it.

Not really.

"Why won't you go home and sleep…" Arthur was stroking his fingers through Francis' hair.

"I need to be here," He groaned and shifted. Violet like eyes shuttered closed.

"You can go home and be with Matthew, I can be here until we're given the 'okay' to discharge." He dragged his fingers gently from front to the back of his head. Francis noted that it was meant to be comforting, but his hair was greasy and grimy. Not him. Not pampered and pretty Francis who was so precautious as to how his hair was parted on shift.

Francis was almost convinced, but emerald eyes came closer as he situated himself unexpectedly in Francis' lap and buried his head in the crook of his neck. Hands snaked to wrap around his neck.

"…If you leave, we'll be okay." He whispers lightly, and lays his head on the cozy shoulder.

Francis was fully convinced that Arthur was desperate for a sense of relief and soft tempers. "…I know." He replied back softly. Wrapping his own hands around Arthur. Suddenly the room became more bearable. The lights were more forgiving, and as Arthur lightly closed his eyes, Francis joined in in the everlasting comforts of sleep.

Alfred eyes fluttered open. The lights seemed even brighter, time ticked on and as he breathed in the nightly musk softly through his nose with a yawn, he perked himself up, blond locks frizzled and interlocking creating a horrible tangle. Turning his head to the left of him, he wiped his eyes of sleep, viewing the curtains opened slightly in the middle to see a dark sky.

Internally he was punching himself for sleeping so much. It was clearly a waste of time because he needed to move, get out of bed, and get back to school.

The teen still had an awful headache that he refused to complain about because it _could_ be worse, and it was just a silly headache that would eventually go away because they always do.

Alfred sighed, bored and the stress was unforgiving. Still covered in ruffled bed sheets, and a nasogastric tube within his nose, making head movements severely unwanted and even painful.

"-nurse came in a couple hours ago and said you're more than likely being discharged midday tomorrow."

The sudden voice made Alfred jump from his skin.

"Scare you?"

"Uh, yeah," He stated sarcastically, because it was obvious, "Why are you still here? Figured you'd go home or something."

The man next to him laid his book down, saving his page and folding his arms defensively. "Do you really think so little of me?"

His son plainly shrugs. "…Just thought you'd be smart enough to go home."

"The hell Alfred? Why would I go home? I'm not just going to leave you here." He scolds apparently flabbergasted.

His knees seemed to push themselves up to Alfred's chest as he sits up turning his face away. "…could have been better off…"

"I'm sorry?"

"Nothing." He tries to protect himself by closing his eyes or at least drifting his gaze elsewhere.

"It obviously wasn't 'nothing', what the hell did you say?" He was pressuring unwiltfully so, and if Alfred was going to make a bet, he would say that maybe his father wasn't realizing that his sudden compulsion to make his son talk was making it even worse for Alfred to get a grip.

"It was nothing, drop it."

Arthur scoffs and flops backwards, Alfred left himself in a very defensive position. His shoulders were tense and his eyes were felt open in a narrow glare towards the opposite wall. Awake and aware of the situation, he was almost tempted to lay back, the IV was tugging unbearably. Lights needed to be dimmed, but he mostly needed something to drink.

Clearing his throat, blue eyes awkwardly shot around the room, "Can uh – I have some water?"

Arthur shook his head, face was back in the book, "No, not yet." He mumbles turning the page and feeling the rough pages between his slender fingers.

Silence is golden, and the loudest noise was the silence itself. Arthur described it as a companion, and at time in his life, maybe it were like a solitude. It could even be like a prison. Because that's what silence was.

Arthur could feel his breathing be rasped. He was staring at Alfred not in anger, but in sympathy. He wasn't expecting his son to want a pity party. He understood. The emotion that was going through someone's head at a time like this. It was impromptu and if Arthur had the opportunity to disregard this – he still wouldn't. This was near torture, and not for him. It had nothing to do with Arthur except the way he handled it. Depression was a kidnapper, but as time goes on, it lets your soul drain slowly like it were a killer. Even if it's in your own head.

"Alfred," Arthur attempted to sound as upfront as possible, but it was impossible when there was quivers lingering in his voice. A sound that lacked any real merit if you asked him. "We need to talk." Why he didn't start the much needed conversation sooner was a mystery, but he theorized it was because they weren't alone properly like this for some time. It was uncanny and Arthur felt slightly uncomfortable speaking like this. Throwing away his confronting type years ago. Yet, the scars still lingered like a cloud.  
It was time for an unexpected rain shower he supposed.

"Now's not the right time…" The teen tried to hold his walls of resistance. Shielding himself from what was a harsh reality that peers at school were so keen on regulating him to succeed. Because they said they were worried he was pushing himself too hard. Giving him so many chances to change and relax like he was supposed to.

He couldn't see the changes that needed to be made.

"No, this is the perfect time to talk about it. Why are you being so defensive?"

"I'm not being defensive!" Alfred gave a hiss and kept his eye contact to an all time low.

"Yes the hell you are! You're not even looking at me or hearing what I have to say! Why not!?"

"Because I don't need you and everyone else mocking me!" Alfred flung himself back towards the pillow and buried himself under the rasp blanket.

"We're _NOT_ mocking you, Alfred. You have problems that you're not admitting to, even though you almost _died_." Arthur frustratingly groaned in a patronizing voice shaped by far too many advanced degrees. Fingernails nearly clawing holes through the thing faux-leather. Cockney accent was heavily creeping in his voice.

"I was doing fine! You're the one who wanted me to be here!"

Arthur was taking a bold step, and a leap of faith, because he thrusted himself towards Alfred. Adrenaline was rushing through him as he grabbed the stitched arm without any second thought; the Brit held it out.

"Then what the hell is this!? If you were fine, then what is this!"

Alfred gasped in pain and shot up from the bed in an attempt to clutch his arm. He was terrified, meeting his father's eyes, they were layered with frustration and anger, choppy nails almost digging around the wound painfully. Pulling in an attempt to release it from the grip, but the Englishman seemed intent to prove his point. More than likely just for pride so he can be right like the man always tried to be. The teen could do nothing but put as much resistance into the pressure that he could. Avoiding any more confrontation if he can but his father was far too persistent.

Coming up with the best response he could, Alfred tightly closed his eyes, "It was a minor setback."

"A minor setback!? For what! Alfred, you're hurting yourself for no reason at all, a week ago I had teachers worried that we are forcing you to work yourself to the brink of exhaustion! What the hell are you doing!? People are worried about you, YOUR FAMILY is worried that you're going to try and kill yourself." The tight grip hardened with his final set of words. "We love you and we always will, but this has to stop."

Alfred's breath hitched, "But I don't want to."

Arm was let go, and Arthur was reluctantly gathering his jacket, disappointed and at a loss for words and he raked his fingers through his hair. "I'm getting some air, don't do anything stupid." Cool off, that's what he needed to do.

"… couldn't if I tried."


	5. Chapter 4: But alfred is an asshole

As the lights peered through the thick curtains, Alfred realized that the day was going to be musky and looming. Rain or even snow clouds slowly began to tumble their way into his petrified environment. Alfred found it bitterly humorous how the bags under his eyes had laid dormant. Restless nights subconsciously took over his life and the notorious nightmares were like flood gates

Preferring to ignore the obvious obligations when it comes to sleeping little and comparing it to the lasting sleep you're supposed to get. It was hard to contemplate a resistance in sleep, but it felt too time consuming, overbearing, downright insufferable. Too many things to get done, and not enough time it seemed. He lives a fast life, but not fast enough because karma seemed to be catching up to him. Longing to stretch the time be between the relevance and deprived attitudes he realized the lack of priorities were not straight enough.

Two sat in silence, nosiest noise to hear with tension as high as Mount Everest, promotion lack of confidence, the lack of confessions and tears would go one ear and out the other, an epiphany of contrasting solutions. One say he'll do better, lie through his teeth, think of all the ways his solitude would help conclude an arrangement of heart and consolidate his ways. But he was stubborn, just like his father, he couldn't see past one point of view without a push. It was enough to think back on that solution, but wasn't enough to have trust in a result that had no mind.

So option two. Go out there and shut himself down, a downward gaze of suppression and lack of emotional morals, he doesn't mind this too much, he worked so hard he might as well take the easy way out. Give this kid the benefit of the doubt. But he was emotional, he had his morals and they were well-known. Stuck in a rut that wouldn't seemed to budge, so option three. Maybe it's the both combines, lie through his teeth, and suck in a breath of this mess he don't mind. He was trying not to regret his actions. He was a bigger man than this. Tired of the recluse and deduce of destruction. Paint himself over from his past self and start again. But this time bolder and more aware.

Hours later, the nurse had walked in, with papers that needed signatures. Latex-like gloves were expertly placed on her hands as she walked over to him.

"I'm going to need you to lay back and place this tissue on your unoccupied nostril." She instructed, removing the tape that kept the tube in place.

"Does it hurt?" Alfred asked lowly.

"Not from what I know of, but there is said to be irritability." She warned with a lackluster smile.

The blond wasn't surprised, stoically nodded as she proceeded.

The tube was kinked and her fingers pressed gently and pulled. It was more than irritable, but it was less than painful. Indescribable it was, but as it was tugged out finally, he finally found the reason why the tissue was there. Mucus seemed to spring up. Gross.

"There we go, now we're just going to remove this IV, and let you dress, after discharge papers are signed you'll be free to go."

Blond hair locks swayed as he nodded, the IV removal was swift and painful. But what would you rather have, discomfort or pain..? He'd rather feel pain.

Pain. Alfred felt pain to be a lack of understanding. If only we could understand it all, would we feel no pain? Alfred thought so. Amusing as it was, pain was a choice compared to discomfort. Discomfort was like eyes staring back at you in the pitch darkness. Harmless, but If you stepped closer. You might get burnt.

But, God must feel no pain. Only joy.

Does this mean even our suffering pleases him?

"-your other father brought you different clothes." The nurse places a hospital bag on the bed in front of him, "He thought they'd be a bit more comfortable than your other ones." For obvious reasons, she drew the privacy curtain, but he took his time. It was hard to stand up. Staying in bed for a couple days with hardly any movement wasn't the best thing in the world. Back was aching throat was throbbing, and karma was a bitch.

The outfit was mostly grey. The sweater was a size too big, and the sweats were comfortable. The look wasn't bad, but the shoulder seemed to slip, creating a disorganized look, but…comfortable. Alfred had been given brand new clothes. Clothes he certainly didn't have in his wardrobe. And they were certainly expensive clothes he didn't feel he deserved. New shoes. A light grey with a mixture of a tan tint. It was soft inside and on the rim a fabric seemed to fold. Creating a beginning winter boot look.

Glasses were finally placed. He felt completed and less blind so to speak.

The curtains were drawn back.

"Would you like anything while you wait? Water?"

"Yes please."

She nodded and made her way out. Eyes attempting to adjust to the near clear view in front of him felt relieving. The door opened, and what came in wasn't the nurse with water he desperately needed. It was Arthur who so kindly seemed to silently snarl at him.

Again, he avoided eye contact, drawing himself down to the attention of slipping on some warm socks. Slightly fuzzy and black. More importantly, warm. He didn't deserve so much.

"When we get out of here, mind the snow." Arthur warned lightly as Alfred struggled with these damn shoes.

"Wow, you're acting like I can't handle myself." He scoffed as he finally slipped the first shoe on.

"We established this last night, don't get mouthy with me."

"I'm not getting mouthy with you, I was just saying-"

"Then just don't talk, I don't want to hear it right now."

"But I was trying to explain-"

"Stop! We'll talk about it when we get home!"

Alfred was nearly fuming. Angrily attempting to tie his shoes. "First you want to talk about it, then you don't. You want to hear what I have to say, then you don't. Cute, I get it now." He sounded nearly resentful and hurt. His emotions have been showing through like they weren't supposed to.

Throwing his weight to his left foot, Arthur threw his head back in discontent and with a sigh, "Alfred, we're _not_ doing this here." The man seethed and narrowed his eyes. Running his fingers through his hair.

The boy ignored him and rolled his eyes. The shoes were unintentionally tied too tight but he didn't care. He wanted to go home and do something. Anything to get his mind set correctly.

He was in pain though, his throat ached, and the headache still stayed alarmingly protruding and humming. Definitely there, and definitely antagonizing. It was making him feel nauseous and as he stood up; he almost fell from dizziness.

Quickly forcing himself to grip the side of the hospital bed – Arthur rushed towards his son in an attempt to help him stand, "Well, don't fall." The Brit tried to enliven the room slightly.

"I'm fine, get off."

He rubbed the hand off his shoulder, piqued by the blatant visibility of his unconscious will to be accepted. Alfred felt the action to be derogatory and insulting, he was old enough to stand on his own, and he wasn't a kid anymore.

"I'm sorry, I was just trying to help…"

"Well I don't _want_ it."

But that doesn't mean he doesn't need it.

Francis didn't sleep well that night.

The man felt that he was congested yet somehow underworked.

These were risky water though, title waves could barrel over at any given second, whether they were home, or suppressed to just a hospital bed, he had to realize that at one point; maybe this was a patch of water he didn't want to get wet, or step in. He did once before and nearly got soaked.

He feared he wouldn't be able to swim out of this one.

The feeling of cold air was wrapping over him obnoxiously that no amount of coffee or blankets could help. Tea was out of the question, and wine just didn't exist at the moment. A scary thought from his past, seemed almost normal now. He felt the comical embrace, and maybe even the irony of it all. The Frenchman hated being in a hospital although worked for one. The bloody stretchers and even discoloured clothing is what he would sometimes come home to. Even when he stepped through those door he never felt as vacant as he would have normally though. Long hours and days barely left him home. They were understaffed, and volunteered to take shifts when he needed to – so not working right now was odd.

He just wished his last two days off wasn't for such morbid reasons. Pivotal moments like these was now a great deal of importance and overbearing at times. The time something like this took was something Francis just couldn't seem to provide. No matter how much time he took from work, no matter how much time he took from life, there just wasn't enough of it. This conclusion didn't rip him in just two pieces. It ripped him into a billion and then some.

For the majority of his life, he always wondered how much time someone had. His realization was fortunate to come before death, as – he realized there wasn't that much. Living the life for the time he has is the best option.

"Papa, are you okay?"

Francis jumped, some coffee from his cup dripping onto the floor.

Matthew gave a squeal, "…sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"Ça va! No worries!" Francis tried to reassure. Gently placing the coffee cup on the marble counter top.

He grabbed a roll of paper towels and ripped a piece off, bending over to clean up the mess. Matthew was slightly more conscious to the atmosphere. The young boy was scared slightly. Francis had noticed his youngest stiff movements.

Throwing the used towel into the garbage, Francis knelt back down and opened his arms.

"Come come." The Frenchman urged. Lifting Matthew on his hip he sighed.

"Dad and Alfred will be home soon." The man informed as he poured himself more coffee. An odd obsession in a world where you had to move fast, but a treat that ironically seemed to make things move even slower.

Resting his head on Papa's shoulder, Matthew hummed and closed his eyes.

"Should I make you something to eat?"

His son shook his head, "No, you seem really upset, I don't want to make you." He whispered calmingly and subdued. Tucking his arms into Francis' house robe to keep warm. It was only the beginning of November and cold air was threatening them already.

"How do you suppose I'm upset?" Francis whispered back lowly.

"I heard you talking in your sleep. Daddy said when you're upset you sleep talk."

"Ah." Blond hair exclaimed leaning on the counter. "He means when I'm stressed, not angry; dear boy." Matthew realized the correction and blushed.

They both stayed there – content for the moment. Cars whizzed past, and cold air seemed to flow throw the cracks of the windows. Unsealed but unbothered. Feeling like the setting was a blissful moment for a disoriented family; couple. Intent of relieving certain inquiries of life that liked to bleed through. Upsetting sure, but moments like these were too promising to dismiss so suddenly. A nice bonding between the two anyways could do everyone good.

Matthew was calm. His lack of ignorance at his age was appalling and even considered a good change of pace for the household. Blond hair – quite like Francis'; curled slightly at the tips, creating a wave-like effect.

"I should make lunch for us." Francis suddenly spoke up. Not really directed towards anyone, but still there. Feeling the need to fill the air with something, trying not to fall asleep, trying not to feel comfortable and be productive, but Matthew was still clinging to him tiredly.

The boy was wiggling his way out of the grip with a yawn, small fingers climbed their way down and feet making contact with the cold tiles. When Francis tried to rub his fingers through his hair, they caught horrible tangles, but Matt refused to get a haircut.

"We really like it when you make tomato soup." Smiling as he clung to his stuffed bear even harder, "I'm sure Al will really appreciate it too!"

He couldn't help but smile back. Matthew's pleasantness is just too contagious sometimes. "That's not a bad idea, now, go watch cartoons or something…"

Matthew pattered off.

"Unlock the door."

"Hold on, let me find my keys."

"It's freezing unlock the door."

"Be patient, I'm trying to find my keys."

Alfred slouched against the car. He didn't want to be patient. He wanted to go home and be warm. Shivering as the breeze captured under his thin coat. His parents didn't prepare him for the weather and temperature. As sad as it was, wrapping his arms around himself wasn't the most pleasant feeling to have cold air biting at his skin.

Admittedly, Arthur was taking his time, spite was the main reason. But finally being able to dig into his pockets.

Alfred forced the door open as soon as he could.

"I figured you'd warm it up," Alfred growled darkly under his breath, rubbing his hands together and tucking the, between his legs. This couldn't be healthy.

"You'll be fine, calm your ass down." The Brit switched the car on and turned the heat on a medium. Arthur would admit that it was fairly cold, but Alfred was over exaggerating.

The seat was reclines and a seatbelt was in place. It was annoying Arthur realized that Alfred had just leaned back without a care. His own breath was tinting the front window in fog as he released the break.

Teen was obviously shivering, the heat was blasting but not warming the vehicle up quick enough.

"We're going to be there soon, don't get your panties in a twist."

"But it's cold as hell…" He mumbles in response.

"I know, didn't expect it to be so cold today, would have had Papa pack you something more heavy-weight."

The turn signal was flicked on.

"Papa made lunch," Arthur turned his head towards Alfred who was slumped and only slightly warm, he was still shivering slightly, and the rugged air through a cracked window seemed to bring some kind of decent ventilation to sooth a sore throat and a throbbing headache. "-and you will eat it."

Alfred scoffed, which turned out to be a bad idea because it made him nearly gag from pain. "I don't wanna."

"We all have to do things we don't like,"

"…this conversation is pointless."

"There are a lot of things that are pointless that we do."

"My throat hurts."

"We'll have him make you soup."

'Dammit,' Alfred thought as the light turned green, and his father pushed on the gas to accelerate.

The most of the car ride was laid in taut silence. Like it was a forgiving fortune, Alfred realized that there was no fighting the inevitable, and even when he finally got the chance to run away, karma was still there lingering. Biting him in the ass, and pointing it's finger.

It was a fate he deserved and welcomed with willing arms. How sad it was to remember a fate that has not which had happened. Confusing. Maybe even an illusion, deception, or a mirage, his nightmares and daydreams could not truly change things. A horrible magician he was to think that for a millisecond he could stand such a powerful force such as karma and life.

"…why won't you just give up?"

"Why would I give up?" Arthur glanced with sincere emotion. A tingle of convolution and dubiety was present.

"…it's easier that way."

Giving a mute breath, Arthur felt like he was gasping for air. Air that could reassure himself.

"Because I love you, and I want to help. Is that a problem?"

"…I just wish you would have asked for something else as a reward."

"Having you alive right now is enough for a reward, Alfred."

Alfred hated it. Everything. There was nothing sentimental. It was a 'setback' and no matter how hard he wished, and wanted to breathe honesty – it was never there.

The rest of the ride back was silent.


	6. Chapter 5: But Alfred goes home

Arhur slowly pressed on the breaks. The light was part of a busy street he'd rather not take chances on. Malevolent vehicles made their way here frequently. Although it wasn't as congested as it were to be during rush hour, it still seemed like the perfect place for an accident. Because that's what the family needed right now. More hospital stays.

He gave a heavy sigh, the car hadn't warmed up too much, the heater was blasting in his face, and even though it chapped his lips greatly, and made breathing through his nose difficult, it was a slight relief from the cold that lingered through the doors. The feeling of the wind outside seemed to be contagious though, because he was experiencing chills from head to toe, but heat waves that was making him sweat.

He cracked open his window.

Due to the lack of complaint, the Brit looked over. Alfred had fallen asleep. Nose was still red for the freezer breeze outside, but the medication from the hospital hadn't worn-off making sleep inevitable for the boy. The bags under his eyes showed how much he needed though.

Arthur didn't notice before, but Alfred had a split lip, healing but the cold made it more protruding. It could be because Arthur had sat on the other side of him, but who knows. It's there, and it looks deep, maybe even painful to the touch.

There seemed to be even though bruising around the lower neck area, the purple discoloration had gone away and it was very light, but due to the white snow outside, and the car's dim lighting made it stand out like it was contrasting. Don't forget the shoulder, his long (also very large) sweater shit Francis had bought him (for 'comfort purposes' dare he say) – had dragged down revealing a scratch by the looks of it. Maybe even a _cut_.

He'd ask later when they're settled in, and in the comfort of their home.

He guesses the last thing to notice was the way Alfred had positioned himself.

His son was stiff as a board, legs pushed together like they were cowering, hands were tucked neatly at his sides, avoiding any physical contact on the center console. Angling himself just barely towards Arthur; like he was preparing to pounce, it was extraordinary as to how uncomfortable he looked. Out of necessity? Out of fear? Questioning didn't continue much longer because the light had turned green, and there were more important things to worry about at this very moment. And that thing – was going home.

Alfred found the silence alluring as well as calming. Head laying slightly against the window, hair dampening slightly from the window that was coated with frost from the morning dew. Music was turned on low; Bluetooth automatically connected to the speakers – Queen, Alfred had quietly noted.

He found himself to be drifting off though. Untroubled breathing, an a _finally_ relaxed position made everything seemingly better. Soothing noises of the radio that gently played swayed his judgement greatly. Alfred's breathing was hardly labored or disturbed precociously. And to him – it was nice.

The teen must had been drifted too far; because the next thing he is aware of it a hand shaking him awake.

"Al," Arthur nudged.

Alfred shook his head awake, eyes barely adjusting to the light, "…hm?"

"We're home…"

The car was noticeable quiet. It was getting colder, and the creaks of the car settling can be heard.

But if there was one question he was supposed to ask himself; what now? He felt the coldness, the air that liked to bite his skin and so many others. This year it seemed worse though. The cold was burying into his skin, and planting a seed to making him unbearably frigid.

He tuned his head to peer through the frosty windows. Papa's car was in the drive, completely covered in snow that had the texture of dust. Footprints were filling up from the snow that had begun to drift down. Recognizing the small headache that had dared to creep back to his head, and the drowsiness was also lingering. Alfred would be completely content to fall back asleep right now.

"…Oh." The boy seemed to stutter.

Arthur shuffled a little bit. Reaching for bags in the back and finally stopping right before he opened his door. Alfred on the other hand seemed content to just get out and leave finally, quickly opening his door and feeling that horrid breeze and air.

"When we get inside-" The brit struggled for a moment, "I want you on the couch."

Alfred understood. So, he nodded. Implications and emotions were high. He didn't want to falsely play his cards, and make things worse.

Arthur was expecting a chastising jab, but it never came. They both exited the vehicle silently.

When the door opened, Matthew was greeted with the chilling cold. Wrapping himself in the knitted blanket, he was unaware of the timing for a moment before he heard a slight cough. This made the boy turn his head over the back of the couch that faced the front door.

"Oh, hi dad!" Matt gives off a cheeky smile. Attempting to run up towards the man, Arthur nudges the youngest away.

"You don't wanna hug me, I'm greasy and nasty, I love you but it's not worth it." Matthew practically tackles him anyways.

Alfred doesn't take the time or effort to notice the interaction. Alfred doesn't make the effort to push his own hair back. He doesn't make an effort to smile, or greet anyone. He barely makes an effort to take his jacket off because there wasn't a point. The boy didn't feel he deserved so much as a second to relax. But he was being forced to. And although taking the time to relax is good, it still wasn't worth the amount of work he had to get done.

Albeit the fact he had to do it or not was completely washed from his brain. Sad to say the boy was used to it.

Alfred trudged past the two hardly noticed. Papa didn't take the time to even give a smile like he usually does. He doesn't deserve it he supposed, and rightfully so.

The couch didn't feel comfortable under his skin, the couch didn't even look appealing to start with. Whatever was playing seemed to at least drown out the uncomfortable atmosphere. Everyone was happy, he felt horrible for ruining that.

Hugging his knees to his chest; he rested his head on them and sighed. The heat was making his throat burn even more. There wasn't any point in complaining about it. It as his fault. But his eyes were threatening to slip shut to relive the pounding headache. He resisted as much as possible. Alfred didn't feel he had to sleep. He didn't _deserve_ it. The blond could pout as much as he wanted. But it wouldn't stop the fact that it was his fault, and his responsibility to deal with.

The sound of the kennel going off only made Alfred bury in his thoughts more.

Earl Grey. That's what Arthur liked most. The warm tea that seemed to etch itself into his soul once again was delightful.

"How was the car ride?" Francis asks hurriedly, turning the stove plate off.

"He complained that it was cold at first, but he fell asleep after a couple minutes." He mumbles out, sipping the hot tea. Being cautious of the heat, whilst also trying to be as quiet as possible.

"It's the anesthetics have yet to wear off. Not only will that but the pain meds too."

Arthur groaned under his breath, "I know, he was prescribed Ibuprofen, need to get it filled today or tomorrow…" Too much to do in such a short amount of time.

"Yes of course, but in the meantime; I will get Alfred, you two can set up the table."

That wouldn't be such an easy task.

Calmly setting his cup down, Arthur could he heard calling Matthew to set the dining table up. There wasn't much to do really, but maybe clean a few stacks of papers off, and move a tie or two. An easy task.

Francis on the other hand, didn't really dread getting the boy from his home camp for now. He could barely see him over the couch though because he was slouching so much. Stiff as a board the Frenchman could recall.

Sitting in pure silence was bliss it seemed the best way to spend an afternoon, alone. The wind was getting louder outside though, catching onto things and whistling. Repetitive it seemed to be.

"Alfred it's time to eat."

"I don't wanna…"

"It doesn't matter whether you want to or not, now come get something to eat."

Alfred had no intentions of moving, fairly comfortable on the couch away from his family made him feel like he was doing _something_ right for the first time in forever. But he realized almost immediately that this wasn't his home. This was a house. Not his, it was Papa and Dad's… Arthur and Francis'. The teen figured he had not right to argue. And he didn't, he stifled his way silently to the dining room table. A medium toned wood color, chairs were their basic shape, and the rectangular view made it seem like a normal family was meant to be here. Too normal for Alfred, and too loving for Alfred. He quite liked the fact that he was able to at least be alone like he's going to end up being anyways.

He laid dormant in one of the chairs far from next to Arthur. Avoid his disappointing gaze at all cost. Avoid all disappointing movement that his father would make towards him from now on. For being weak. For not acting like a man he was supposed to be. Alfred was a man and could take care of himself.

Couldn't he?

"How was Feli and Ludwig's' house?" Arthur asks calmly, biting into his soup that Francis had so graciously made.

The young child perked up.

"Oh it was a lot of fun! Scary at first, but Ludwig was so nice to me, and let me pet his baby puppies, he also read me stories when we went to bed! Feliciano was also awesome, he tried to teach me to paint something weird, but it was too hard. But really fun! He also stayed up with me when I had a nightmare!"

Alfred was letting the conversation slip through his ears gracefully.

"How about Grandpa, was he nice?"

Matthew nodded wholeheartedly, "Mhm! He told me really funny stories, and it was funny when he tried to make dinner but Luddy scolded him for being in the kitchen and risking a fall and hurting his back, so there was that."

He continued to explain more, but at this point Alfred had forgotten the other three were even there, Idly stirring the soup with zero intention of eating it. He didn't need to.

He had to.

"Alfred eat it." The Brit warned.

The blond shook his head and crossed his arms.

The Frenchman cleared his throat, "Al, why don't you take three bites, and then you can go up to your room." Arthur didn't like this idea.

"But I don't wanna…" _fight it fight it fight it fight it. Fight them, fight them, fight them._

Instead the listens, and he listens carefully because he couldn't disobey them, or make them hate him so much anymore.

So, he takes his bites quickly, and forces away from the dining room table. Too weary. He'd head for the bathroom to let it all out, but he was still scared to go _there_.

Arriving at his room, it was dull as ever. The dull curtains still hung over his window. His laptop and phone was both still sitting there, more than likely dead. Bed was unkempt and ruffled everywhere but it looked comfortable to just flop on and pass out. Other than the twinge of pain in his arm – Alfred was too keen to just pass out. So he did.


	7. Chapter 6: Lots of thing happen

If you were to ask Alfred if he deserved to be where he is; he would give a heavy laugh, "Of course!"

And he did. Alfred worked hard when he wanted and when he could. The amount of effort Alfred would put in was definitely above average, and some teachers found his abilities in science and math to be extraordinary. The teen had times when he wanted to cry in frustration and want to quit – but the sheer amount of effort he put into his assignments and the time the boy spent doing them was appreciated.  
m

Alfred was put under immense pressure. Lucky enough to move up his science class to a sophomore level and taking algebra 1 and geometry at the same time was truly an honor to him. The blond wasn't… prepared – but the news, and the grades would look good on college applications.

Quiet was definitely not Alfred's forte. He moved around too much. Spoke out of place, made his own way to success and somehow… Alfred always smiled.

It was never malicious, it was never spiteful or hostile. Alfred was the most genuine person anyone will ever meet. Alfred is never afraid to tell the truth because he knows if he tells the truth his kindness will force them to pay a small price. No one would have it any other way.

To everyone, Alfred was the definition of flawed, but nevertheless perfect somehow  
So when he woke up in the middle of the night to a poke on his head and an 'Alfred-' he wasn't surprised.

"Hm?" The half-asleep boy had muttered as he tried to bury himself into the bedsheets because Alfred was far too lazy to drape one over.  
"Alfred, can I asleep in your bed tonight." The voice was quiet and it was barely comprehensible, but the suffocating white noise made sure itwas the most important thing in the world.

Nodding his head – Alfred sat up. Thinking his glasses were perched on his nose, he realize that they sat resting on his nightstand.  
Matthew took precaution to step back slightly. The young boy was nearly shoving his face over his brother. But Alfred did eventually set himself under the sheets and pull the covers open for Matthew.  
"Hop on in..!" Alfred tried to voice enthusiastically, but also quiet and hoarse; and a yawn was what inevitably broke it his enthusiasm.

It was hard for Matthew to see, neither bother to turn on the light, and a nightlight (specifically there for Matthew thank you very much!) was far and the light that casted over the bed was few. So they had very little to work with.

Matt laid down on one of the fluffier pillows Alfred kept in the spot separating the bedside table and his bed. It fit perfectly where it wasn't in the way. Al never used it anyways. Found it much too cooling and hard to work with when he did finally find time to sleep.

They got comfortable. Shifted a few times maybe. And like every night like this, they kept their distance. Matthew always had a stigma for personal space – and Alfred respected that.  
"So," He sighed and faced his little brother, "What was it tonight? Kuma getting into trouble again?"  
Kuma was Matthew's imaginary friend. "No, Al. It was-"

"Or was it that ghost in your closet?! Because I assure you that I can kick it's ass if I need to!" The usually boisterous teen gave a very loud whisper and tried to smile.

"N-No," Matthew whispered, "It's-"

"Or was it your nightmares again? Because if you dream about a knight in armor like me – I could totally kick their ass still, guarantee-"

"Alfred that's not it!"

Alfred flinches. He let his excitement get the best of him.

"It's," Matthew's eyes in the dark glistened. There was a sniffle and a cough. "It's you…"

The air grew heavy and Matthew was sobbing lightly, tears were pooling and soaking into and on the pillow staining it. And Alfred stayed silent. Letting him cry and giving his brother room to speak.

"It's you, Okay! W-when dad took me to Nana's h-he was crying. And when Papa was able to get Feli to take me to his house it sounded like papa was crying too, and you r-really scared me!" He exclaimed and sat up as he wiped away the tears from the corner of his eyes. The child tried to calm down. Breathe in and out. But his imagination ran rampant for his excuse was the mere mindset of a young child. Barely noticeable, but a good nature that refused to be cracked.

Tears still fell though. Hiccups still found their way to creep into his throat He was still shuttering and coughing and scared. He was still worried and he still cried. Alfred quickly sat up though and wrapped his arms around the small frame that was his brother.

"H-hey Mattie, everything's okay!" Alfred tries to assure Matthew. Wrapping his arms around him and trying to calm him down, trying to comfort him – ease him into slumber somehow. Even if it was done by small satisfaction "Everything's oka-"

"Al, y-you have to promise you won't hurt yourself on purpose anymore!" Unusually calm Matthew was seemingly sputtering cried into exhaustion because he yawned with a shiver, took the blanket he was huddled under and tried to wipe his face, which was red and swollen from heated tears. "P-please…" the small voice muttered quietly, leaving only hiccups.

"Matt, I-" Alfred began with a heavy sigh, "I can't promise anything." He stated truthfully, hugging him tighter.

There was still a sniffle and a hiccup, Matthew's voice cracked as he hollered wrathfully. His brother hoping it was hidden through the walls. "B-but you have to..!"

A sharp exhale and a deep inhale almost left Alfred dizzy. "…I won't anymore." The lie sank in.

"I promise…" The teen smiled gently, forcing Matthew to lay on the pillow, retain normal breathing; and fall gracefully to sleep.  
Alfred knew for sure he couldn't keep that promise.

And it made him sick to his stomach.

Just before getting up, he realized the weight that usually laid on his side was gone. This was abnormal, Arthur never woke up this morning on the weekends.

The Frenchman outstretched his arm to feel next to him. It was still slightly warm.

"Arthur, what are you doing?" Francis groaned in annoyance and sitting himself up slowly, avoiding a head rush by a landslide.

"On my laptop." Arthur replied stoically and typed even faster if that was even possible for him.

"So, you're stressed?" Francis asked, trying to sound surprised, but it came off as mostly sarcastic.

Arthur huffed dramatically.

Francis the covers off his body and stretched with a yawn.

He's getting old.

The daylight drifted through the lightly layered curtain. It felt warm, and the windows were fogged due to the morning temperature outside. Francis shrugged and bit his lip.

Rustling could be heard from across the room, the typing of a keyboard, and a disgruntled Arthur sat there in place still.

"Get up and make yourself useful." The Brits head slowly rose up from the keyboard, staring at Francis begrudged.

"You have always been a handful in the morning." Francis chuckled to himself as he rose from the bed and made a slow walk towards his husband – who was more focused on the computer screen. The curtains were closed, so the screen was illuminating the corner of the bedroom, and the closer Francis walked towards it, the more blinding it got.

He kissed his cheek, "You're really going to blind yourself." A broken French accent huskily whispered into Arthur's ear.

"Yes, I love you too, now be a dear and make me tea. I am parched." The man before him blushed, and kept his undying attention elsewhere.

"You're scared then?"

Arthur turned his gaze towards Francis briefly.

"How so?"

Francis could be a sympathetic man, he IS a sympathetic man. A hopeless romantic, and has a knack for lovey-dovey books on sale at Barns and Noble, they were small and simple reads to pass the time when he had it.

"You've woken up earlier than usual."

"That doesn't mean I'm scared." Arthur mumbled.

"How long have you been awake for?"

"Going on three hours." He admits. "But I don't see how that makes me scared!" Arthur exasperated.  
"Did you check on him?"

"Yes."

"Then you're at least worried. And you better set that pen down!" Francis warned as he swatted the pen down in Arthur's right hand.

"I just… I need a distraction," In the past, Arthur was never really able to admit things so calmly and clearly, although, over the years, Francis might've changed that.

"And this is your problem." The man previously sitting in the chair adjacent to Arthur suddenly perked up and forcefully (if not gracefully) took hold of Arthur's slender fingers.

"Let's go downstairs, and I can make breakfast for the lot of us-" Francis went for a kiss on the left cheek, "-I can make you tea-" Another kiss on the opposite cheek, "And then we can relax with a book or two." He finally kissed his knows.

The Briton rested his head on his husbands shoulder and hummed. "Fine, just… don't worry about me. Please?"

Francis chuckled. "I will never stop."

He finally kissed him.

"Why is it so cold down here?"

Arthur looked up from his tea, "Oh look who's up."  
Alfred wrapped his arms around himself, he was still in a thick sweater, but he was still cold, and he was visibly shivering to the point he was blowing warm air into his hands. Like he was outside in the snow, _with gloves. Like a kid_. Nevertheless – the teen walked up to the refrigerator and took out the half gallon of milk.

Arthur watched in scrutiny, "If you're so cold, get my sweater hanging up by the door."

"Nah," Alfred responded as he set the milk on the side counter next to the coffee pot. "I'll get this coffee and get warm myself." He responded triumphantly, if not, a bit too natural for Arthurs liking. As if everything was completely… forgotten. Any morning here was the same thing. Matthew was the early riser, Francis was usually next, Then Arthur when he wasn't beaten from work. Finally Alfred after he had actually decided to go to bed.  
His son always told he could 'rise with the sun' when it wasn't a school night, but it was still a mystery for everyone else if this was actually true.

"If you insist." The Brit wasn't too please, but didn't push him any further.

The coffee was bitter, undeniably so, but it felt nice when it went down his throat. But compared to the last couple days where staying hydrated was a hard thing to do, and combat dry mouth, he'd take a slight burn down his throat any day.

Alfred could have easily fell back asleep though. But the kitchen island as too cold to lean his cheek on, and he slept too much.

"Bonjour, Alfred!" Francis sounded a bit too bright this morning. His voiced optimism made Alfred jump and almost spill his coffee, yet he still left a kiss to the back of Alfred's head.

"What would everyone want for breakfast, I can make some eggs and bacon, Alfred?"

"Hm?" The blond swings another drink from that bittersweet goodness with a frown from the interruption.

"Breakfast?" Francis prompts.

Alfred lightly laughed, and set the empty mug down on the marble countertop. "I'll be fine, I gotta take a shower anyways, I stink and stuff," The chair legs slide over the floor as Alfred makes his way to set the empty coffee mug in the dishwasher.

Alfred's arm had been caught by his Papa, he did try retching his arm back with a squeal.

"… are you okay, really?" Francis asked concerned. Because he was worried, and trying to help him was an instinct of the sort.

The teen smiled brightly and laughed. "Yeah, why wouldn't I be?!"

Francis almost believed it.

Almost.

Time back home was about as exciting as was to be expected. Everyone had their own internal issues to work through, and Arthur always had the occasional unexpected meetings he absolutely needed to have with his boss over the phone. The meetings usually meant Francis crashing into Arthur's space just to hear the self-satisfied squawk of outrage from the Englishman. And meetings with his boss were not as fun as they _should_ be because Arthur absolutely refused to get the hint, even when Francis was already on direct course of removing his shirt.

But as natural as somethings come, Arthur yelling in defense, "I'm on the bloody phone!", things much actually go naturally as well. Like the T.V remote.

When that gets lost in any family. Brother turns on brother, and husband turns on spouse. Quite literally.

"Dammit," another drawer was slammed closed, and Francis just casually sits on the love seat unaffected.

"Dear, have you checked the TV stand?"

"Of course I checked the T.V. stand!"

"Have you double checked the kitchen?"

"Don't be so daft Of course!" Arthur practically yells.

Finally the Brit walks towards the occupied seat and stood directly in front of Francis whose face was occupied in a book. Well, as occupied as he could seem to be.

"Get up." Arthur seethed relentlessly.

"I'm sorry?" Francis smirked.

"I said get your ass up, I need to see if you're sitting on the remote." The Brit was definitely not going to (try) and throw Francis off the couch.

Francis rested his chin onto the fist of his hand. "I'm not sure that I should let you have it."

"Francis, I have today to catch up on Young and the Restless, let me have my guilty pleasures." Arthur is nearly slumping tiredly over his husbands body.

"Fine, fine, but a kiss shall suffice, yes?"

Arthur growled but complied, Francis move himself form the love seat only for Arthur to realize that the remote wasn't there.

Perfectly balanced, as all things should be.

The next day was school, and he was given specific instructions to go to the art room at lunch because Feliciano would keep him company.

What a load of horseshit.

But that morning they were running late, and Alfred was just so tired that maybe sleeping five minutes after shutting his alarm off was a good idea. And mind you - quite typically, Alfred sees himself as a fairly intelligent human being.

Even as Alfred was being rushed to throw on some shoes and at least a hoodie, he was still forced to stop and at least eat a granola bar. Of course the blond took it.

But it was also shoved into his bag, later to be forgotten.

"Come on Alfred, we don't have all day!" Arthur yells up the steps.

Alfred is nearly throwing himself all over the place trying to shove the last notebook into his bag and phone in his pocket.

"Yeah yeah, I'm coming!"

By the time the first bell signalling high schoolers to enter the school, Alfred had seven minutes to get to his first period, which was Algebra, this was one of the easier subjects. The morning temperature had left him shivering and what felt like delusional. And the books in his arms felt heavy.

Alfred scurried past kids in the hall, some were talking amongst themselves, and others surrounded themselves with a group. Some talked lowly, others we're trying to yell amongst the sea of teenagers. The week left some upperclassmen smelling like alcohol, stale cigarettes, and weed, teachers either were to oblivious to notice or just didn't care. Probably the ladder.

Trying to speed walk down the hallway was next to impossible with the sea of kids hoarding themselves through the halls. It was making Alfred even more anxious to get to class as it became suffocating. Hard to breathe, Alfred looked towards his right.

For a moment, just a moment; Alfred locked eyes with Kiku. His chest tightens even more as he quickly pushes through the crowd as hard as he pushes years of old memories to the back of his mind. Yet, every single day Alfred thinks just towards himself; "We used to be friends once," Time change, and taste evolve. The ending of era's was inevitable.

Without paying too much attention, Alfred took a hard left and landed right on his ass with an 'Oof!', books and papers.

He doesn't look up as he scrambled to throw his papers and book back together as quickly (but not very efficiently.) as possible.

"Oh, shit dude!" Tried speaking above the slowly diminishing sound of casual chatter. Feeling eyes peering down at him, and yet the boy still worked to pick up the items as an oddly familiar gaze bestowed on his features. "I'm so sorry!" His Algebra book sat painfully on his left arm and scattered to retrieve the other papers.

"Nyet, do not apologize." The voice talked almost casually as he leaned down to help Alfred pick up his things. Pencil bag, notebook, and an English writing assignment book, was laid next to Alfred to pick up.

The American boy recognized the voice almost immediately - "O-Oh, Ivan..!" Cheeks began glowing a very deep red over relatively pale American skin, "How're you..?" Alfred asks nervously shoving his glasses up the bridge of his nose, doing this in an act of nervous nature.

"Ah, I am doing well Alfred. And you? You seemed to be gone for a while." Ivan seemed unaware of the tense (or even slightly cheeky) demeanor of the person in front of him. But as Ivan smiled at him, eye-level mind you, Alfred swore he could have fainted. Ivan, an _upperclassmen_ was talking so easygoing to him. Granted, they were in the same science class together, and he just a grade higher; but Ivan was… _Ivan_. Tall, smart, oddly endearing...

"Oh, yeah, don't worry, I was just sick… but I'm fine now." Alfred technically wasn't lying, but again chuckles as the Russian kindly sets the rest of his items in his arm with the other things. His cheeks were still fuming, and if Ki… and if anyone were to ask, he'd just say he was a little too warm.

"I do hope so, I miss having you around." He waves brightly, and walks off with his scarf trailing contently around his neck.

Oh Ivan, Alfred misses having you around too, and as he climbed the next set of stairs, and took seat at a desk; he used the free time he had to daydream.

Except this time he wasn't alone in it.


	8. Chapter7:but i duplicated chapters sorry

**I'd like to apologise for the whole chapter thing. I wasn't paying attention in the slightest and it just... happened. and thank you for telling me about it. Here's the chapter.**

* * *

Ivan Braginsky was a sophmore. Not that much older, but he held a good extra 2 feet over Alfred. His build was hard to explain, and it was hard to decipher whether or not he was fat or just well build, and honesty Alfred didn't care. Alfred didn't care at all.

Ivan was nice, and for some reason Alfred came to realize that a lot of teens and even teachers were severely intimidated by him. It was funny and if given the chance, Alfred could burst out in hysterical laughter to how absurd a _teacher_ of all people could be so afraid of a student. Ivan smiled, and when he smiled at him in 6th period, it made Alfred feel warm inside.

He swore up and down that he wasn't staring. Staring made people anxious and Alfred tried to make people as warm and as comfortable as possible. It wasn't hard to smile and wave, Alfred just didn't like doing it because it felt fake – unreal.

During the school day, there were a couple things that were the hardest.

One, Alfred went into 3rd period expecting to participate in gym just like the other students. But it seemed their Cuban gym instructor caught a whiff of Alfred's medical problems and decided to halt his physical participation and make him sit out. And for Alfred to achieve his credits for this class, he had to just change his clothes.

That wasn't too bad. All they played was dodgeball.

Two, instead of being able to eat his lunch in the library with the math teacher (a way to woo him into giving him more work to finish early.) He now had to eat with Mr. Vargas in his art room. He didn't like it in there because Alfred wasn't used to Feliciano being quiet for 45 minutes, considering the fact that in a split second his room suddenly had the atmosphere of a boisterous man. It was deflecting, and Alfred felt cheated.

Third was the fact that Feliciano was forced by his parents to monitor whether or not Alfred actually ate something. But instead of being able to give the excuse 'school food sucks dad!' his Papa decided to pack a lunch that was good for his calories intake, and that was slightly more insulting than it should be.

But the worst part was when Mr. Vargas was actually WATCHING HIM, and of course Alfred noticed when the bell rang and he phoned his dad. He could hear that stupid accent through the phone.

So if you were to ask If Alfred was bitter, then yes, he was.

Dinner was probably worse though.

"You didn't eat anything at lunch." A small piece of chicken was place on Alfred's plate with green beans and corn. Nothing too exciting.

"Okay?" Alfred replied dragging his fork around the plate that was sitting in front of him, and Matthew looked like he could easily devour the meal and utensils that came along with it.

"Papa won't be too happy." Arthur seemed to mumble.

"Cool." Was the last sarcastic reply before he was sent to his room for the night, only to be forced down later to eat, (which he just barely did.)

Alfred didn't _not_ like eating because he was fat, he didn't like it because eating could make you tired. When you're tired you can't work. When you can't work you fail, and when you fail, you disappoint.

Alfred didn't like to disappoint.

Although his night was horribly interrupted when there was a rapid loud knock at his bedroom door (at nearly 4 in the morning, so 'night' is a very loose term for him), and when it was flung open, a plate was shoved in his face and he was forced to eat it all. This left a very tired papa, and a very angry Alfred. (Oh yeah, Francis was pretty angry too, but why would he show it?)

He forced himself to sleep through breakfast, and when the tedious phone call to his parents happened after lunch he was sent to the school counselor.

"Alfred, what's going on?"

"Whaddya mean?"

Eliza grimaced, "Don't act like you don't know what I'm talking about."

"I really, really don't."

Elizabeth had great timing and patients for students and teachers. She's had to put up with preppy teens and their crushes. A conglomeration of issues, from drama within a friends group to serious bullying issues. Nothing could crush her everlasting amount of patients.

Except sarcasm and the 'I don't give a fuck' personality.

"Then let me recap for you. First period you decided to get mouthy with one of the assistant teachers, telling them – and I quote- 'You better change your major now, or else your life will remain as pointless as everything else.' – That's serious, I could suspend you for that."

All Alfred could do was shrug,

"Then second period you told Carlos to – and I quote _again_ – to fuck off, under your breath."

"He heard that?"

Eliza slumped with a heavy sigh.

"Listen, I'm not going to tell your parents, but you have to promise me to apologize to them."

He groans and limps in his chair, "Fine."

"And come to me if you need anything, talk, or just vent." She handed him a slip of paper. All Alfred could do was look at it in disgust.

"Anytime you need to talk, you put down your name and what period you'd like to take off, and slip it in the basket right outside my door." She explained with a struggled smile and she looked very sociopathic if you were to ask Alfred.

But when he got out of eye range, he opened his backpack, and shoved the paper down to the bottom of his bag, crippled and seemingly useless.

"Do you want to be my science partner?"

Alfred looked dumbfounded, "What?"

"My science partner, would you like to be my science partner."

Alfred stared silently for a moment, and Ivan fidgeted. It was cute.

"Yeah. I'd love to be."


	9. Chapter 8: Aye, new chapter )

It was raining, and Alfred was stuck inside the school for another 45 minutes.

It wasn't all bad though. It wasn't thundering or lightening and was certainly calm.

But, he felt alone though. An empty school for another hour was harsh, but it wasn't like he was completely out of things to do.

Alfred could talk to the school janitor! He was a cool guy! Had some interesting stories about his family. But then again, he wasn't anywhere to be found. Not only that – but he talked slowly and got off track fairly quickly; and that meant having to save the story for later in which both would inevitably forget.

Then there was his Algebra teacher, Mr. Von Brock. He was nice company. Or at least he was someone there to remind you that there WAS someone in the room with you if you didn't want to be a alone. But the downside to that was Alfred has a tendency to talk a lot more than he should without actually SAYING anything. This easily turned grating; and not many people are too happy to recognize that part of, so he made it an obligation to keep that part of himself locked away.

Then there was Mr. Vargas, his art teacher and the one he was forced to sit with at lunch. But if you were to ask him – Mr. Vargas is too scattered brained most of the time and easily gets distracted.

Lastly, Mr. Beilschmidt and Mrs. Hedervary, (Everyone just called her Eliza.) But that was his principle and school counselor and found that to be a bit tacky.

So this left Alfred completely and utterly alone.

The battery on his phone was sufficiently charged. Leaving the blond on his own with thoughts and his own ideas wasn't a good idea; but it wasn't like he was going to throw a fit. But it still felt like he was suffocating himself with just pure silence.

"Alfred?"

A voice rang next to him and Alfred shot his head towards the sudden disturbance.

"Oh, Ivan!" Alfred smiled. Cheeks growing pink from the sudden embarrassment of well…

"What are you doing here? I figured you would've hiked home." Alfred spoke as softly as he could, but his cheeks were red, and he was starting to fidget again.

"Uh, nyet, I drove here," Ivan smiled back, "Are you waiting for someone. I can take you home-"

"No, no, no, my dad took my brother to the doctors, and typically I would walk home, but its-"

"Raining, I see." Ivan finished.

Alfred's face flushed more. His skin was crawling with anticipation and curiosity. Alfred didn't know much about Ivan. He lived with his sisters, and his parents stayed behind in Russia. He lived halfway across down near the River Front Park, and he was a year older. All that information through days of partnerships and small talk. But other than that – Alfred was either too embarrassed to actually talk to him or the time never appropriately came.

But maybe this time would be different.

"So," Alfred drew out as his fingers clasped together. "How have you been?"

Ivan's expression was light, and the aura was welcoming almost, "Ah, it's been well, and you? I intend to talk to you during lunch, but you're never in the lunchroom."

Alfred gasped, "I-I'm sorry, my parents force me to sit in the art room. But I'm pretty sure if I ask, they wouldn't mind." He chuckled and brushed a piece of hair behind his ear. They probably wouldn't let him, to tell the truth as it is. Maybe they would try and bargain with him first, and he wasn't about to step into that at all.

Ivan seemed to join Alfred on the floor. Their legs rubbed against each other for a split second, and before Alfred realized it, Ivan was looking directly back at him. Violet eyes and their almost piercing gaze overtook his thoughts for a split second before Ivan could speak.

"What about you, hm?" The Russians voice was like butter. Alfred didn't know what to. It was hard awing for a man that was either a.) Taken, b.) Not gay, or c.) Not interested. Letters A, and B were something Alfred could respect and understand just like any normal person; but If it was C, then not only would he be heartbroken, he'd be angry like anyone else. But let's face it. Couldn't hurt to try. But Alfred bounced back to reality and chuckled whilst rubbing the back of his head in discomfort of the brick he was idly laying his head on.

"Oh me? Uh well, it's been okay." He tapped his fingers together, "Just been kinda busy dude, you know. School, home life… and other things. But its fine." His blue eyes avoided dark ones as he bit his lip. His fingers curled together on his lap, and the pink tint on his cheeks were becoming slightly more noticeable than he'd like. The nervous coughs, and the sudden change in voice octaves was drastic. Sounding more manly and nasally than was reasonable or intended. But it was only a habit amongst other things.

But the patters of the raindrops outside seemed to die down slightly. And Alfred felt like he needed to say something. Anything. Break the suddenly tense atmosphere. But there wasn't anything to say! He can start off with something slow.

"Listen," Alfred sighed and itched the corner of his jaw, purely out of nervous habit, and his hands needed to do SOMETHING, "I don't mean to be so boring. But I appreciate the company."

Ivan nodded, "You seem to be tact though. Oh so generous that you've seem you have taken up part of my leg with your hand. We're not even at stage one yet." The sophomore was _smirking_ , but he was right.

He quickly removed the hand and shoved it into his lap. Face flushed completely with a nice red shade, he stuttered out his apology. "Oh shit! Uh, I'm so sorry. It's a force of habit, I swear!"

Ivan was still smiling though (it was more of a grin unfortunately) "It's okay Mr. Jones. Just please be more careful." He winked and Alfred coughed into his arm. Flustered and embarrassed. He should have never started the conversation in the first place.

Several minutes later, and Alfred seemed to have taken up the proximity of his time lulling at the sound of rain, and the low breathing next to him. A surprisingly good mixture. Comforting. So this is what it's like then. Emotions being registered through the sounds of two completely different things. This was the art of love then. Someone he barely knew. Someone he wants to get to know.

It was sad but true.

"I hear it's going to be like this for the next couple days, hm," Ivan started miserably, lightning struck in the background, and Alfred flinched.

He scoffed and scowled, "Yeah, for the next month I guess. It's almost like we've taken a vacation gone wrong to England." Soon enough there was a barrel of laughter right next to him, and the freshman eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. So Ivan liked cheesy jokes, huh.

"I suppose you're correct Alfred! I went there one weekend with my father years ago, and it was nothing but rain and despair. I prefer sunlight, that's why I agreed to transfer to the US."

His lips curled into a smirk of his own.

"You're a funny one," Ivan giggled quite girlishly to be honest.

"I also know a bunch of science puns because I got bored one night," Alfred pushed his glasses up on his face.

"Please tell me one."

"They're super corny." The boy warned.

"I don't mind.

He cleared his throat. "Okay, uh. What did the negative charge say to the positive charge after the first date?"

The older teen shook his head, "I'm not sure. What?"

"We have potential!"

Ivan was laughing once again. And Alfred be damned if he didn't do the same.

How corny was it though? To sit with your crush on the floor in school. Tell horrible jokes. How much of a nerd did he have to be to start something that was barely anything yet? How bad does it have to be to just be friends with someone and not fuck it up for once? But for now, it was just nice having someone he at least knew in his company. And would like to get to know more of. It wasn't sadly, technically speak. Just… in the early stages he supposes.

"I have so much more than that. Lately I've been using my 'above average' IQ to try and figure out what I'm being forced to shove down my throat in the morning, and read terrible jokes."

"At least you're doing something creative with it, Da?"

Alfred nodded, "I guess you're right." He laughs and lets his head lay back on the brick wall.

"Tell me another one?"

The boy perked up from his spot as soon as he heard it. Oh yeah, Ivan better get ready for a nerdy time.

"Okay! Uh, what did the cell say when his sister stepped on his toe? Mitosis!"

He giggled relentlessly. And it seemed Alfred was joining him. Not because of the joke. But because of the absurdity of it all.

"I know, I know. Super geeky and nerdy, Ya caught me." He laughed along with and Alfred's smile was absolutely beaming.

"My older sister would adore you and your 'nerdy' jokes." The scarf was pushed back behind his shoulder. But his face seemed flustered too. "But thank you for your incredibly geeky jokes, you've made my day even better."

'Even better?'… "Hey, it's not a problem, it's made my week talking to you actually."

"Well, that's good. And I would love to talk to you more Alfred, but it seems like your ride is here."

Sure enough, there was a Kia sitting right outside the main entrance.

"Oh yeah, uh. I see you tomorrow then?" He shot up and grabbed his belongings that were scattered around the hallways. Umbrella, notebook, pencils shoved into his bag.

"Of course you will Alfred."

He hummed as he stuffed his phone in his pocket. Alfred wasn't in a rush to leave.

"You might want this too." Ivan called out, just before Alfred was at the door. But something was handed to him.

… His. Number.

"Moving a bit too fast for yourself Braginsky. I haven't even said yes to the first date yet."

Ivan raised an eyebrow. "Well, I just figured since we're lab partners for the rest of the year; you would've felt inclined to have it."

Alfred put it in his pocket. "Well, drive safely. It's wet."

"Same goes for you Jones." The older teen replies quite sarcastically.

"It's not Jones. That's my middle name, Braginsky."

He hums, "I see." He mutters.

Alfred nearly bursts through the doors of the school. Speed walked to his car and without hesitation – shoved everything into the backseat, and himself in the front.

"Dear Lord, Alfred. What the hell has gotten into you?" Arthur exclaims from the sudden harshness and force when the SUV door is slammed shut.

"Uh, nothing." He lied, took out the number out of his pocket.

 _'-since we're lab partners for the rest of the year; you would've felt inclined to have it.'_

Oh, Ivan Braginsky, you have no idea.

 **Honestly. Could you please tell me what you think of this story? I'm looking for critique and a beta right now and it would be awesome if y'all could lend a hand :') I also just want reviews because im a desperate 17 year old still into this fucking anime.**


	10. Chapter 9: But Alfred is in love

Alfred didn't like the silence.

The bashful noise of the outdoors was nearly addicting. The streetlamps illuminating the sidewalk were intoxicating. But the more silence that placed itself into existence. The extensive idea that even a pen could drop – leaving him alone with his thoughts seemed frightening. To him it was even more frightening than almost death could ever be. He dreads the silence. Yet, he was perfectly immune to the overt casting of typical drive by's and Christmas mornings with other – more or less attentive – family members. So in all seriousness this shouldn't be an issue. But it was. It could loom and direct. It could be so awkward and Alfred certainly detested it.

Because of this, and because he wanted to – Alfred decided to take Ivan's invitation the next day.

 _Ivan: "Or. You could sneak out."_

Sneak out? Alfred hadn't done that since Kiku and he went to the fair in eighth grade.

 _Alfed: "I don't know man, it's been a while, and I think I'm a too big to crawl through my window."_

 _Ivan: "Nonsense. But if you don't want to I won't hold it against you."_

Alfred ponders for a moment. Rolling onto his stomach and turning his phone brightness down. He looks behind him. Hallway light is off. Then he looks at the time. Almost midnight.

 _Alfred:_ _I guess I could go. I need fresh air anyways. Just gotta make sure dad and Mattie are asleep._

 _Ivan: "What about your other father? Wouldn't he be worried too?"_

 _Alfred: "He doesn't usually check on me. Don't worry. If my lights off he won't bother."_

 _Ivan: "That's good, that's good where shall we meet?"_

Alfred set his phone down as the messaged flashed on the screen. Where would they meet? Where did Ivan even live?

 _Alfred: "Maybe at the river park? I'm not sure if you're walking or not. But I am and it's closer to me."_

 _Ivan: "Sounds fine. I'll be there in a few minutes."_

When you're sneaking out. It's not that much of a challenge when you know what you're doing, obviously. But the science and maneuvering behind the act is quite divine almost. Alfred had done this many times before in the past. He threw on a red hoodie and pushed the sleeves up to his elbows. The cloth burned his stitches as he contemplated whether or not he should wrap it up. But it's no use. He didn't have the time or know-how. A small flashlight clipped to his pants, placed his toques hat atop his head and looked through his window at his driveway.

Good. There wasn't a second car.

He opened it slightly and gently stepped out onto the shingle of the roof and observed the street from left to right. Nothing. No headlights. But the brisk air was almost enough to knock him off his feet. As soon as he was crouching down he pulled his sleeves down to shield as much as he could from the biting cold.

Alfred shivers. But eventually navigates his way to the edge of the roof and onto the garbage bins finally landing on the ground.

He speed walks to the edge of the drive and looks again. Still no car in site. Good.

The streets were bare, and the music from his earbuds kept him company for the walk. It was a good mile. But he needed the air. He needed to breathe. And at least be with… was he a friend? Or glorified crush? If his dad found him right now, he'd be dead. It too cold, Alfred still makes pretty good time though. Even through the sheer chilled breeze.

When he arrives – the park is eerily silent, and the lamps along the trails of the park are dim, but comfortable to look at as the flakes of snow slowly fall past the bulb. His shivering though and he finally realizes he probably checked the temperature before he had headed out. A hast just wasn't enough.

Sure enough though, the only car that was sitting in the parking lot was a silver Honda sitting in there with someone sitting on the hood.

Definitely Ivan, the way his body could be as fitting as his and still look nearly perfect was a mystery Alfred was more than willing to uncover. The Russian stared back and smiled, and Alfred began speed walking towards him. Shivering.

"Good evening Alfred. You look miserable." An almost thick Russian accent cut through the snowy haze.

The younger teen wiped his nose with his sleeve. "You have no idea." He cringed, "You have no idea how fuckin' cold it is." He emphasized this by huffing into the air and met as a steam like fog.

The Russian huffed. "Of course I don't, I'm just wearing a long coat for nothing. And you're wearing…"

Alfred clenched his jaw and let out a breath and it seemed like Ivan was studying his lithe form.. "… I don't have anything else." The boy seethed.

He smirked and almost waltzed his body to the driver side of the door. "You might want to bring a heavier jacket with you." The hallow sound of a car door opening caught Alfred's ears. "Now get in, it's warm."

Alfred wasn't sure if it would be wise to take that offer but sitting in someone's car with the possibility of Ivan driving off and killing him was a good exchange for the rest of his moments with heat.

Alfred nodded and opened the car door with his shivering fingers. Inside was nicely spacious for such a small vehicle. The seats weren't a rough fabric, nor was it leather. It was a nice smooth fabric almost like silk. It was clean and the car's radio was turned down low the ambience was more than pleasurable for just a night out.

When they both sat in the car, Alfred rubbed his hands together excessively. They felt frost bitten and numb almost. But Ivan seemed more relaxed with his long coat and leather gloves on, but let's not forget about his hat covering his ears and with silver strand of hair peeking out – it was almost distracting.

In one of the heater vents was a still picture of two women. Alfred presumed they were his sisters. He's seen the one with brown hair before walking around on Matthews' grade floor.

Ivan cleared his throat, "I didn't imagine it would be this cold tonight Fredya. I would have picked you up."

Alfred's voice hitches up and he chuckles nervously. "It's fine. I needed to walk ya know?" the younger male licked his lips. "But feel how cool my fucking hands are dude." He pressed his fingers against the Russian's cheek only to be knocked away in frozen shock.

"Yebena mat'! What are you doing with no gloves in this weather!?"

Alfred shrugs from the alarmed gaze. Quite suspiciously even – like a deer caught in headlights. He rubs his hands together again. "I didn't really have the time to get them."

"But you had time to get a flashlight?"

"Sh-Shut up."

Alfred swore up and down that it was an unofficial first date. Ivan and Alfred had awkwardly listened to the radio and talked as the blissful sound of wind and chill lined their ears reminding them of what was waiting for them through the doors.

But they were still laughing, and talking. Like normal people. Like friends.

"Okay then, tell me about your Family Ivan. Apart from the whole, 'I live with my sisters' bit."

Ivan huffed out his chest and rolled his eyes, his cheeks were growing red from the heat in the car. "My parents live in Moscow and sent my sisters and I here to live because they didn't want us to be caught up in 'business affairs.' It's a bit ironic but we don't question it." The boy chokes out bitterly and his eyes sulk.

"Tell me about yours Alfred. You seem so keen to bring up the topic of family."

Alfred was miffed to say the least and scrunched his face in annoyance. "Um, my dad, Arthur is from the UK, and my papa is from France. I'm not really sure how they met, but my dad doesn't really talk to his family anymore because his dad doesn't like his 'unusual lifestyle.' My nana doesn't mind but he's an asshole."

"I could never understand that either-"

"Excuse me? What is that supposed to fucking mean!?" Alfred bared his fist and was ready to fling open the door before Ivan stopped him.

"It _means_ that you seem to at least have a nice relationship with your father. I saw when he picked you up yesterday, I noticed when you came to meet your teachers before the first day of school. He talked to you like you were both friends for years. You two seem close. Closer than I've seen any other parents with a child."

Ivan finished and Alfred lowered his hand from the door and looked at him before focusing his gaze back towards the center cup holder somberly. "Close. I mean…I guess we are kinda close." He fiddles with the end of his hoodie.

Ivan hums and Alfred looks at the time.

It's half past two.

"I should be getting home. Don't want my dad's fatherly intuition to kick in and him suddenly check on me."

Ivan lightly laughed. "I can take you home. It's snowing and cold. Please."

He rolls his eyes, "I'll be fine dude it's not that big of a deal. You don't even know where I live."

He turned the key of the car the rest of the way. The engine revved and Alfred had a sudden pique of interest as he pull the seatbelt over himself and the feeling of giddy rose into this chest.

"Fine, take this main street to fifth and turn left at the light."

Ivan's face nearly beamed victoriously.

"Stop here."

The car pulled over and the blond in the passenger undid his seatbelt.

"Thank you for the ride dude." He opened the door and you could see his breath. The snow was falling even harder. So light it was to lay on top the top of his head without melting. Thin and delicate – like it were never to end. I layered the roads and sidewalks. Lamps and cars. It was laying on the grass as if it were a mountain of snow, and his street is the peek.

"It wasn't a problem. I'll see you at school tomorrow, yes?"

Alfred nods and smiles. "Totally." He coughs, his breath itself is shivering from the breeze, "Why do you ask?"

Ivan grinned as he reached into his backseat, a cloth was visibly grabbed until it was threw at Alfred who seemed nowhere near ready to catch and staggered from the sudden impact.

Curiously he looked at it confused.

"Wh-who the actual fuck actually owns a scarf and uses it?"

"I do, and now you do – " he begins, "I better not see you without it around your neck tomorrow at school." He emits a chuckle from deep within his chest. "And any other time we meet after dark. It'll be cold."

"Is this a threat Ivan, are you actually threatening me over a scarf?" Alfred mocks as he is hanging onto the open door. "But, there where be more m-meet ups?"

"Maybe. Now close my door, it's getting cold in here. I will see you tomorrow, yes?"

Alfred grinned himself, "Totally."

He gently closes the door. And by morning, the footprints are already snowed over, the car tracks are no more. Alfred casually wakes up with a headache knowing he's seemingly gotten away with everything.

If there were a difference. He wakes up to a navy blue long scarf hanging on his desk chair being illuminated by the streetlights outside his window and the nightlight in the far corner. He'll smile and remember a not-very-distant memory.

_  
 **SO LIKE I LOVE THIS CHAPTER. BUT I STILL NEED A PERMA BETA. PLEASE IM BEGGING YOU. SOMEONE PLEASE BETA ME. DEADASS PLEASE BETA ME!**


	11. I dont usually update anything in may

**Hey guys! I don't think there will be an update this month! I'm finishing a lot of school work and I'm going through a period of writers block which I hope to overcome. I apologise for any inconveniences but right now, I need to get myself motivated to do schoolwork and other things before the summer starts for me. I am excited to continue though, and I still am looking for a beta for the series. So if you want to, you can send a message or comment (make sure you're logging not as a guest or as such. Make sure I can message or respond back). I still am looking for critiques (and tbh I've gotten quite a good few of them. But I love them.)**

 **And I love you guys. I appreciate the people who are regular readers or even visitors. You mean a lot, and if you want to message me or add me on Discord, here's my info; "Lil Nas X #0101."**

 **This should be deleted or added to the next chapter, but as soon as I update again this should be removed or changed to fit into the next chapter. I hope to update the beginning or middle of June!**

 **-Thank you lovelies xoxo~~**

 **And before a guest is 'uwu RePortED!' This is coming down as soon as I can make it. It's not illegal and it isn't that big of a deal, please don't get your damn panties in a twist.**


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